


Good Morning, Miss Australia

by Boo_82



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boo_82/pseuds/Boo_82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When after six long years Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and antiquities dealer, has found back his son he's satisfied to settle in a routine where he's taking care of his now fourteen-year-old boy and his business in Storybrooke, ME. But Baelfire worries about his Papa's apparent loneliness and decides that it's time for his father to meet some new people... by signing him up for a wake-up service. Storybrooke Rumbelle AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Scotsman

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 1: Mr. Scotsman**

* * *

Mr. Gold's pawnshop was a dusky place, one of those shops that people on their average Saturday shopping day were reluctant to set foot inside. It was a place where darkness never really left and where real antiques sat next to worthless knickknacks on the shelves like brothers, sharing a fate in which nobody would ever come to collect them.

The Venetian blinds blocked curious views through the windows and filtered the daylight to slight and harmless beams that did little more than illuminate the specks of dust on their way to the polished wooden floor. It was how Mr. Gold liked his shop – peaceful, quiet and with only the echoes of the past surrounding him in the disjointed collection of objects on display.

Taking inventory was something he didn't have to do often. Well, that wasn't entirely true. As the people in this town rarely dared to set foot inside the shop let alone buy something, once every five years actually would be overdoing things. But taking inventory also provided him with an opportunity to check up on all the objects in the shop, to see if repairs were needed or a more thorough cleaning. If so he would remove the object from its spot and with painstaking care he would take it to the workshop behind the shop. There he would restore its brilliance, whether if it were an antique gold watch or a tin whistle.

Mr. Gold repaired things, things that were delicate, complex and which required unbelievable amounts of patience. And patience he had in abundance – patience and almost as much devotion to his shop as to his son. He had an eye for honest beauty and a nose for finding it in extraordinary items, the simple they might seem at first glance.

That same talent had helped building his reputation as a notorious businessman in this town as his brown, wide-set eyes seemed to register with frightening accuracy what was important to other people – that and his unperturbed attitude towards pleas and tears.

'Hm, let's see: a 19th century bicycle. Check. An antique Wedgwood tea set. Check. Two…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!_

A penetrating sound ripped through Gold's peaceful state of mind, harshly breaking his concentration. His fingers stiffened around the pencil in his hand and he looked up, annoyed by the intrusion but also confused that he couldn't immediately place the familiar sound. He knew it was familiar because his response to it told him so but somehow it sounded much closer than normal.

Slowly, as if someone had glued his instable feet to the ground he turned around, feeling as if his shop turned with him. But he managed to cast a gaze at the showcase behind him and belatedly realisation sunk in as he saw his cell phone perched on it. Oh, of course. His phone.

Someone was calling him. He lost interest almost immediately as he turned back around. Whomever it was they would have to wait. He was taking inventory now and he needed to concentrate.

'Two ominous dolls, one male, one female. Check. One Mickey Mouse collectible. Check. One unicorn mobile. Che…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!_

There was that blasted phone ringing again. Gold sighed inwardly. Couldn't he even go to the shop on a quiet Sunday afternoon to take inventory without any of those ignorant townspeople calling him?

'Seven lidded mugs. Che…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!_

Gold now cursed under his breath as the obtrusive ringing forced his concentration to slip from his grasp. Maybe he should ask Bae to install a less offensive ringtone. And make sure his son wouldn't get the chance to change all the other preferred settings like he did the last time he'd…

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

The man in the antique mahogany bed sucked in a forceful gulp of air and his heart jolted painfully as the angry sound of his alarm clock beeping yanked him from taking inventory. All surroundings disappeared and his eyes flew open as he tumbled into far less dreamy dimensions. A peculiar melancholy gripped his heart when he understood that he had been asleep all this time.

His body needed much more time to wake up than his mind did. For a few moments he had no choice but to let the alarm clock beep for another few seconds to collect himself before he was able to roll on his side and reach out to quiet his shrill alarm.

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!_

Oh, for heaven's sake!

Lifting his hand from his alarm clock Gold grabbed his prehistoric – as Bae called it – flip phone from his nightstand and with furrowing eyebrows tried to remember why it was there in the first place. He never took his phone with him when he went to bed. Despite the fact that the double morning call still had his pulse racing his still foggy mind came up with no explanation however as the ringing continued endlessly.

Gold let out a small sigh and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he flipped the cell phone open.

'Private number' the caller ID on the green screen said and he narrowed his eyes in displeasure. Those call centers had some nerve calling him at… his gaze traveled to the clock in the corner of the screen – 6:05 a.m.

Well, he would make sure they would never dare to do so again.

Gold cleared his throat and finally pushed the reply button.

"You better have a very good reason for calling me at this hour, dearie."

His deep voice sounded soft, deceptively polite but there was an undercurrent of clear menace that would have any salesperson cower underneath his headset. The reaction was nothing he'd ever expected though.

"Good morning, sleepyhead! My, my, aren't you difficult to wake up? I think I had to redial your number at least three times."

A warm laugh reached Gold's ear through the speaker. It accompanied a female voice with a distinct accent on the other end of the line. Australian, he knew after a split second of listening, dumbfounded.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, not directly of course. I've just been put through to your mobile phone. But I asked the volunteer to retry a couple of times, because you're new to this and I didn't want you to get disappointed right away. That would be a pity."

It wasn't often that people could render him speechless but at the moment Gold found that he could only sit up in his bed, cell phone glued to his ear as a stream of lively words dipped in this deliciously cheerful Australian accent danced over him. He must still be asleep.

The woman on the other side of the line seemed took his silence as a cue to go on.

"You know it's quite funny if you think about it. These volunteers are like the telephone operators of old. You know, the women who would sit before a huge wall and plugged in all incoming calls manually."

Telephone operators? Why was she talking about telephone operators? His still foggy mind had trouble following her as his initial anger dispersed with the speed of the words washing over him, carried by her silvery voice.

"I'm familiar with the concept," Gold finally managed to respond and his reward was a soft, ringing laugh that went down to his toes. Yes, definitely still asleep.

"So," she continued cheerily, "how come you get up so dreadfully early?"

It seemed like a rather inappropriate question coming from a stranger and Gold lifted up an eyebrow.

"Actually you woke me up this dreadfully early," he pointed out. "If you hadn't, my alarm clock wouldn't have gone off for five minutes or so."

He conveniently left out it had been the alarm clock that had actually woken him, not his cell phone ringing. "But if you must know, I like to get up early so I can have breakfast ready for my son and go to my shop to get some things done before opening time."

"You sound like a busy man," the imperturbable woman on the other side of the line established interestedly. "What kind of shop do you own?"

He yawned behind his hand.

"A pawnshop, dearie," he condescended as he allowed himself an understated flourish. "I'm a pawnbroker and antiquities dealer."

Who was not five minutes ago dreaming about taking inventory, he recalled with an inward grumble. Times like this he wondered if he shouldn't go on vacation for a while. Take Bae with him and leave behind the dusty half-light in his shop where none of the townspeople ever came to buy anything because they couldn't possibly afford it. If it weren't for his other businesses – as Storybrooke's legal adviser and main landlord – he wouldn't be able to feed himself and Bae. He knew the townspeople saw the shop as a hobby of his, as far as the town beast had hobbies, but it was a habit of his to first and foremost introduce himself as a pawnbroker as the shop was actually dear to him.

He expected the woman on the other side of the line to respond like people always responded to his line of work: with trepidation. Which suited him well, because it had proved effective in preventing them from trying to get too close to him. But to his surprise she sighed in a way he could only interpret as wistful and his eyes widened slightly in response.

"Oh, I love shops like that. They're always filled with these precious trinkets and you can wander around for hours and get lost in all the stories they tell…"

Gold couldn't help it. His heart softened toward this strange woman. Being a bit of a student of history himself he'd found that this was exactly why he loved his shop and everything in it. There was something magical about the place where all the collective history of this little town called Storybrooke was brought together. Sometimes he felt more like the devoted curator of a museum guarding over the town's memories than a pawnbroker. It was a shame the townspeople never seemed to understand that. But this young Australian woman (he took her to be about twenty years younger than him from the sound of her voice) he didn't even know, did.

"Do you like stories?"

Gold had uttered the question before he knew it. It was not one of those inquisitive questions meant to probe a potential customer but genuine interest in the woman on the other side of the line. He was surprised to realize that he actually wanted to hear what she had to say with his mind just now clearing from sleep as he leaned back against the headboard and listened to the enthusiasm in her warm voice.

"Oh yes, very much. That's probably why I'm such a bookworm." She chuckled and he couldn't prevent the amused smile to appear on his own lips in response. The Australian woman certainly had a contagious laugh.

"Then you'll certainly like my shop, dearie. There's a story behind each one of the objects in there."

Good grief, what was he saying? He sounded like he was trying to lure her in, or worse, like he actually cared about her opinion. Irritated with himself, Gold pinched the bridge of his noise and squeezed his eyes shut but to his surprise the woman on the phone was actually quite enamoured with the idea.

"I'm sure you could tell some gripping stories," she mused in a dreamy way that caused a slight tingle in the pit of his stomach. "I would love to hear about them. Is there an object or story in the shop you love most?"

His eyes flitted to and fro in the dusky room as he leaned against the carved headboard. "A favorite object, you mean?"

"Yes," she confirmed friendly.

Nobody had ever asked him that before, not even Bae to whose teenage mind the possibility probably hadn't even occurred. And to be honest he didn't have an immediate answer but his thoughts dutifully went back to taking inventory like they'd done so many times before in search for a reply.

"I suspect…" He hesitated. "A tiny brass piece of the three wise monkeys. But it's actually one of the very few objects in the shop without a story to tell. Perhaps the absence of a story to accompany it is why I like it. It's a blank page."

Like so many other items in his shop it had been there for ages and he'd taken a liking to the roughly casted statue that seemed to represent his position among all the Storybrooke memories that slumbered in his shop.

"And those are the most exciting ones to turn, aren't they? They remind you of the journey you're about to undertake before the story actually begins," the Australian woman agreed on a peculiar tone that closely resembled gratitude though Gold couldn't fathom what he'd said that would earn her thanks. He recognized what she meant though so he inclined his head.

"Yes."

For a long moment they were silent, as an odd peacefulness descended upon Gold. It occurred to him that now was a good time to break off the conversation but he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to her lovely voice yet.

A playful chuckle from the other side of the line pulled him from his reverie. "You had to think about what your favourite object is, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You've never been asked before, right?"

His lips curled up in a melancholy smile. "Indeed."

"That's a shame," she found. "I always find the most interesting the story behind the collector himself. Can you tell me more about him? Was it you who brought the business to the States?"

For a moment Gold didn't know what she meant until it dawned on him that she was discreetly asking him about his accent, slighter than hers, and which shared with her the same Commonwealth background rather than an American.

The question instantly woke the all too familiar wariness and subconsciously he sat up in his bed. He raked his hand across his face.

"I'm sorry, but… who are you?"

There was a mischievous ring to her voice when she giggled in response.

"Ah, that I can't tell you, I'm afraid. But isn't that the beauty of it all?"

Her evasive reply made some of the initial irritation return and Gold narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid I don't understand, dearie. The beauty of what exactly?"

Perhaps the sudden coldness in his voice betrayed the change in him because she remained silent for so long that he was starting to fear that she'd hung up on him. To his surprise he found that he would actually regret it if the conversation had ended here though, which was utterly ridiculous as this was a complete stranger on the other side of the line with apparently no other goal but to interfere with his morning routine.

Finally Gold ran out of patience. "Hello?"

"You say you don't understand."

She was back and he blew out a breath he'd been subconsciously holding as he loosened his grip on his cell phone.

"Yes," he confirmed, noticing the sudden wariness in her voice. Waiting for her explanation he leaned back in the pillows.

"Do you mean you don't know about the wake-up service?" She almost demanded and her warm voice had turned serious all of a sudden. And did he even detect… worry?

"What wake-up service do you mean, dearie?" His voice was soft, cautious as Gold countered her question. On the other side of the line the woman with the Australian accent sighed.

"Oh my, I'm really sorry about this. I think someone who knows your number signed you up for the WB&N Social Alarm Service."

"The what?" He repeated flatly, wondering if he'd heard all right.

"The Wynken, Blynken & Nod Social Alarm Service. It's a service for which participants can sign up on the Internet. The participants are woken up by a call from a stranger instead of their alarm clocks," the Australian woman explained.

For a moment Gold was at a loss for words. He didn't know what he'd had expected but certainly not this. He'd never heard that such a service even existed and truly he had difficulty understanding why people would sign up for such a preposterous activity.

"Sometimes it happens that someone is signed up without his or her knowledge or consent," she continued tactfully. "It must be someone who knows you well; otherwise they wouldn't have gotten past the entrance procedure. Do you have any idea whom it might be?"

He tried to control the anger flaring up as his mind went over the very, very few people in town who – despite what his dream had suggested – actually had the number of his cell phone.

Mayor Mills, obviously. But she was not a likely suspect in this. This prank was far too harmless to be attributed to her.

Mother Superior. Though he'd never actually given her his number he suspected she'd acquired it by using methods that weren't as high standing as her position would lead one to expect. Not a likely suspect, either.

Mrs. Potts, his elderly housekeeper who barely knew how to operate phones with keypads let alone use the Internet.

Which only left his son. Baelfire.

Gold turned over this last possibility and suddenly he knew for sure that he had left his phone on the side table downstairs last night like he did every evening. He didn't like sleeping with the device so close to his head. Bae knew this.

Now it was his turn to sigh.

"I can think of someone."

"Your son?"

The voice on the other side of the line had softened as she guessed correctly immediately and he hesitated. Normally when a conversation got too personal to his liking he would brush people off with a polite yet prickly remark, but not this time. He didn't mind actually talking with the Australian woman and it scared him less than it should.

Gold cast a look at the wall opposite his bed behind which Bae was still sleeping in his own room, amidst an assembly of knickknacks to match his father's passion for collecting things. By the time he would wake up his father would have his breakfast ready for him, such was their routine. That was as long as Bae didn't come up with brilliant ideas to keep his father from actually doing just that.

"My son, yes. Baelfire."

His voice held a certain melancholy as he kept staring at the wall, wondering why the boy had gone through all this trouble to sign him up for this.

"Ah," the woman on the other side of the line mumbled understandingly. If he'd broken any rule by mentioning his son's name she didn't comment on it. "Your son for whom you're about to make breakfast? Will you tell me about him?"

There was an inviting tone in her voice, one that suggested genuine interest, which was something new to him as the people here in Storybrooke preferred giving him a wide berth. It wasn't until Bae's arrival six months ago that they'd began to show some interest, as the town stood amazed that all this time the town beast apparently also was a loving father. He'd seen through their clumsy attempts at conversation though, had known that their sudden curiosity was only rooted in a hunger for information and he had quickly and decisively cut them off.

But there was something about this strange woman with her warm voice and cheerful Australian accent that made him want to answer her question in honesty. Though the years had wizened him enough to still consider his words carefully, he somehow wanted to tell her about his son, about Bae. Perhaps knowing that she was a stranger made talking to her easier than to one of the people of this town. Perhaps that was why he was more willing to accept her inviting warmth. She didn't know who he was and hadn't had time to learn to loathe him.

Gold took a swift peek at his watch. Twenty minutes. Five more minutes and he could still take a shower, get dressed and prepare breakfast. He'd just have to be a bit quicker about it than usual.

He leaned back against the headboard with his cell phone still plastered to his ear and closed his eyes.

"My boy is fourteen years old and he means everything to me. He's been lost to me for a very long time and I can't explain how grateful I still am when every morning I hear him padding between his bedroom and the bathroom and to be able to pour him his orange juice before he goes to school. He's a beautiful boy and a straight A student. He's also a teenager and gets grumpy when I don't feed him on time or tell him to go to bed. He's been living with me for six months now and I'm overjoyed to have him back with me, to see him sitting at the bar in the kitchen doing his homework when I get home and be there to see him grow up.

"As it appeared he was the first transfer student in about fifteen years in this town, which caused quite a stir in the community. But he got accepted remarkably well, considering… his background. But there's something charming about him that makes it easy for him to blend in. He hasn't got that from me."

His voice trailed away as he forcefully pushed the image of a smiling Milah to the back of his mind. Milah who'd betrayed their son and his love for her in such a bad way. He didn't need for bitter memories this early in the morning.

The voice on the other side of the line remained silent for a long time.

Clenching his cell phone Gold waited for some reaction, any reaction but when it failed to come his eyebrows knitted together as he cursed inwardly. It was obvious that he'd scared the Australian woman off with such a personal monologue. He gritted his teeth. He'd been sure that she had been asking about Bae but apparently he'd understood wrong when he'd interpreted her question as genuine interest in Bae.

Perhaps she'd only been asking about generic things like his age after all. Disappointment bucketed down on him like torrents of icy rain as he realized his mistake. After all these years of carefully protecting himself against the nosy gazes of other people he still hadn't learned. How could he have thought that she would actually be interested in him? How could she possibly? They didn't even know each other.

It was time to put an end to this nonsense, go downstairs, make Bae his breakfast and ask his teenage son what on earth he'd been thinking to sign him up for this before telling him that his PlayStation would be off limits for the rest of the month. With angry movements he pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the edge, while reaching for his cane.

"How long did you have to miss him?"

The question appeared out of nothing and Gold froze. He realized that he hadn't actually hung up the phone, which was still connected to his ear. Now the warm, inviting voice had returned and to his annoyance his heart skipped a beat in happiness. Which was utterly ridiculous to begin with, since he'd only spoken with the woman on the phone for less than half an hour. Nonetheless he remained on the phone as he stood up and limped his way over to the bay window to open the curtains.

"You're still here." His voice took on the lighter, somewhat husky tone he always used when he was being cautious.

"I am," the woman confirmed unnecessarily but with a certain edge he couldn't quite pinpoint. "You were telling me about your son. I can tell that being separated from him has been hard for you. How long did you have to miss him?"

He took in a deep breath as residual pain stung his heart at the memory. Also fear for it to happen again, which he had to suppress on a daily basis for Bae's sake. The boy must be able to live and breathe without his father suffocating him.

"Six years."

His soft voice was deepened by his throaty accent growing heavier loading the simple words with a world of grief, loss and bitterness. It sounded like a confession and it felt like one because even now that he had Bae back with him he still felt shame over not having been able to prevent his disappearance.

It didn't go by unnoticed on the other side of the line. The Australian woman sucked in a sharp breath.

"Six years…" Gold heard her say in murmured repeat. "That's a very long time when you're only fourteen years old."

She sounded shocked and the corner of his mouth twitched as he looked down on the snowy front garden with a melancholy gaze. The clear sky promised a sunny winter's day.

"It is," he confirmed quietly. "When he disappeared on me he was still a schoolboy and I guess in my mind he always stayed that age when I was searching for him. Now he's a teenager and even now that he's been back with me for more than six months, I still have to adjust my expectations of him on a daily basis. It's hard sometimes, because I'm still the father he missed all these years but he has grown so much that I sometimes don't recognize him."

He closed his eyes when for the first time he voiced his biggest regret and as the words came out it felt as acceptance of the helpless feeling he'd been fighting for six months. It felt strange to put his fears and grievances to words and to a complete stranger nonetheless. But to his surprise he found that he didn't mind that it made him vulnerable to her. Strangely enough he actually felt strengthened by the woman's quiet attention on the other side of the line.

He actually blamed himself for feeling this way about Bae after finally being able to embrace him after so many years of missing him. The boy couldn't help it that he'd grown into a teenager with needs that were different from an eight-year-old schoolboy.

He also couldn't help it that under influence of the pirate who'd taken him he'd adopted some of that lowlife's mannerisms, whether it was in the tilt of his head when he was being mischievous or the Irish lilt that sometimes echoed through in the way he talked. It should not have been so many years and perhaps this was what was bothering him the most; that he had failed Bae by taking so long to find him.

"Is he glad to be back with you?"

Bowing his head he let his gaze rest on the snow-covered rosebushes by the fence.

"I think so, yes. I was the one who has been taking care of him before he was… taken away from me. I was his mother and father while his mother sought more adventurous ways to live her life."

"Then you mustn't worry about it," she reassured him, ignoring the bitter remark about Milah. It wasn't important right now. "All you need is time to create some new history together and things will flow naturally from that. It sounds like you're both willing to do that and then the lost time will eventually fade to the back like a bad dream."

His mouth opened and then closed again. She was right. God, she was right. All those years he'd fought the time passing by overcome by fear that he would never see his son again. But now that he had found Bae time was actually on his side. He only had to spend it with his son. A wonderful, warm feeling washed over him while he was standing by the window, alone. The most beautiful winter morning he'd ever experienced.

He realized that this was the first time in God knows how many years that someone, anyone had said something to reassure him and he felt his withered, stomped upon heart open up toward this person on the other side of the line.

"Thank you," he whispered as his whole body started to tremble and he had to tighten his grip on his cane.

"You're welcome…" Her voice was soft, almost had a melancholy quality to it. Then she fell silent, seemingly unsure how to continue.

This time Gold waited patiently, still glowing with gratitude and in the safe knowledge that she wouldn't hang up on him.

"You know, perhaps you shouldn't call your son to account about signing you up," the Australian woman eventually mused, sounding thoughtful as she made the suggestion.

Gold smiled at the sly change of subject, moving away from the intense emotions and he was grateful for her tact as his lips curled upward. She was stepping into the breach for Bae, whom she didn't even know. Her hesitant tone betrayed that she was unsure if he would accept it, but to be honest, he only found it endearing. If only Bae's own mother had been so considerate about him… a stray thought he abandoned quickly.

"He's obviously worried about you," the Australian woman continued in a soft tone when he didn't object. "Most people who secretly enter other people into the wake-up service are often doing so out of concern for them."

She hesitated for a moment.

"I can imagine that searching for him all these years didn't leave much time to maintain relationships," she then added tentatively.

Unseen by the Australian woman his smile turned bitter as he thought about his isolated position in the Storybrooke community. "Indeed not. I'm a difficult man to love, dearie."

To his surprise his wry words met with warm laughter though. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

He couldn't prevent his features softening at her spontaneous and disarming response as he shook his head indulgently.

"Of course you would, dearie. You don't know me."

Which wasn't entirely true anymore at this point. With the exception of his name he'd shared with her more about himself than he ever had in a lifetime with anybody else, except his boy. After thirty minutes or so she definitely knew more about him than the few facts the town of Storybrooke had to make do with. And he found that he didn't even mind. He enjoyed talking to this anonymous Australian woman. Though he could only hear her gentle voice there was something so very warm and bright about her that he had become reluctant to hang up and actually wished he could speak with her again. He wouldn't mind to be woken by her voice tomorrow.

Limping back he cast a look at his alarm clock. Thirty minutes indeed. He really had to get going now.

"I'm sorry, dearie, but…"

"Your son is waiting. I know," she offered understandingly. "I have to go too."

He quickly did the math. "So, you're not in Australia then?"

A sweet, tinkling laugh washed over him through the phone and he closed his eyes. Oh, God. Already he wondered how he would manage to get through the day without hearing that wonderful sound.

"Are you in Scotland?" She asked by way of reply and he smirked approvingly.

"Fair enough. So, how does this work from now on? Are you going to sing me a lullaby tonight as well? Or are you going to call me again tomorrow morning?"

He fiercely prayed he'd managed to keep the hope from his voice but his heart sank when she didn't laugh again.

"No, no lullabies. Actually, the idea behind this is that you're called to be woken up by someone else every day."

She sounded a bit dejected at the prospect but he didn't immediately register because disappointment settled in as he realized what this meant.

"So, you have conversations like this with all the people you call to wake?"

His voice sounded resentful, almost accusatory as he was forced to face the truth about the scheme. It hurt. And it hurt more than it should. After all here he was laying a claim on a complete stranger he'd spoken to for – about 35 minutes now.

"Actually, no. You're the first."

Gold froze when her words cut through his anger. Her voice sounded so small that he barely caught what she had said but as soon as the meaning of her words sunk in he stilled. And his anger was dispersed by another tingle in his stomach while an intense relief as ridiculous as his anger took over.

"My apologies," he whispered and closed his eyes as the Australian woman on the other side of the line let out a long breath. "Will we ever speak again?"

The Australian woman hesitated. "Possibly. I could request to be put on your rotation list again. If I ask for it three times they will ask you if they can give me your number."

"I can give you my number now," he said tonelessly. The whole scheme sounded horribly time-consuming.

"If you'll do that the computer will break off this conversation immediately. It recognizes telephone numbers and addresses, both postal and email. Those are all measures to protect your privacy. You might regret it afterwards."

Gold very much doubted this but couldn't do much more than sigh. His ear had started to burn and now he really needed to hurry up or Bae would be late for school.

"There's nothing for it then, I suppose. Apparently fate will decide when we speak again."

He hated leaving things to fate.

"Will you permit me one request though?"

If he had no choice but to accept these ridiculous terms than at least he could try to bend what little he could influence to his own will.

"Of course," she acquiesced immediately, drawing another smile to his lips.

"If you'd decide to ask to be put on my… rotation list the next time I want to hear more about you."

She chuckled at this. "Deal."

"Be careful what you're saying, dearie, because no one has ever broken a deal with me," he jested and Gold basked in that delicious laugh for one last time before she responded, "I think I'll take my chances. Bye, Mr Scotsman. I hope you'll have a good day."

It already is, Gold thought but kept this to himself. Instead he said, "Goodbye Miss Australia," which earned him an amused giggle, "wishing you a very nice day too."

* * *

 Fifteen minutes later he arrived downstairs, immaculate as always in one of his well-cut suits with a dark blue shirt. He didn't wear blue much, actually preferred purples, deep reds and blacks, but today the blue shirt had been the only one to catch his eye before he hastily grabbed it from the hanger. The only roguish part about his conservative appearance was his half-long brown hair streaked with silvery grey that the old-fashioned barber here in town was just dying to cut off.

Bae was already sitting at the bar, spooning up a bowl of cereal with as much enthusiasm as a lion eating spinach. He had his elbow propped up on the bar and was reading his father's newspaper, his dark curls hiding his delicate features from view.

Gold smiled. His son had only been here for half a year and apparently he'd already spoilt the child rotten with Scottish breakfasts to lure him to the kitchen on time each morning.

The soft thud of his cane accompanied him as he went over to the fridge and took out a bottle of orange juice. Silently he poured the juice into the empty glass beside his son's bowl.

He was surprised to see that the teenager had put the glass out but apparently had waited for his father to fill it for him. He wasn't a lazy boy so perhaps Bae cherished the ritual as much as the breakfast itself, he thought as he filled another bowl with cereal and milk and sat down. The realization warmed his heart and it was with mild amusement that he took in his son's disgruntled features. The Australian woman was right. Even within half a year they were already creating history together.

He missed her voice already.

Gold didn't notice when Bae looked up and studied him from underneath his eyelashes before murmuring, "The site said wake-up service. Not whole day conversation service."

He swallowed and pretended not to have heard this. "Did you say something, Bae?"

He kept his voice absent-minded to not scare off the teenager and he felt Bae's searching gaze on him before his son stood to put the bowl in the dishwasher.

"No, nothing."

"All right then. Get your coat and I'll finish up here."

The boy nodded and dashed out of the kitchen but froze in the doorway when his father's voice called him back.

"Oh, Bae. Just one thing: when you signed me up for this anonymous wake-up service did you also commit me to calling up other participants myself?"

To Gold's satisfaction the boy's eyes grew wide and his face got red as a beetroot.

Bae opened and closed his mouth but when the angry reprimand failed to come he mumbled, "No, I unchecked that option," and fled into the hallway.

Mr. Gold shook his head and smiled. It promised to be a good day indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Rumbelle story is flowing from my pen and it takes the form of Good Morning, Miss Australia. I remembered reading about this social alarm service where people can sign up to wake up strangers and it put the idea for this story in my head (perhaps I was somewhat inspired by Sleepless In Seattle too..)
> 
> This is an AU where Mr. Gold lives in a non-magical Storybrooke. He has lived and built a life there since the early days of his search for Baelfire. The next chapter will review where the mysterious Miss Australia was calling from...
> 
> The brass statue of the three wise monkeys is actually Robert Carlyle's favorite object in the shop. I thought it a nice touch to incorporate in the story.


	2. Miss Australia

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 2: Miss Australia**

* * *

"Belle? Belle!"

Moe's voice calling for his daughter rang through the modest, two-bedroom house in the inconspicuous area in the outskirts of Portland, Maine that had been home to her family since they'd arrived from Australia. The sound slowly sunk in, while the young woman stared into the distance, her cell phone still hovering next to her ear. In her mind there seemed only room for a stranger's voice echoing her words of goodbye with a regretful, 'Goodbye Miss Australia, wishing you a very nice day too.'

Belle stood rooted to the spot in her small bedroom, a fierce blush coloring her cheeks, as she tried to wrap her mind around what just had happened.

When she'd received a message by email yesterday from the Wynken, Blynken and Nod Wake-Up Service to call in at 5.55 A.M. she'd inwardly groaned, but had complied nonetheless. Stepping out of the shower cell she'd wondered what this person she was going to call was doing for a living that he or she got up so early. It was still dark outside as she blow-dried her hair in the kitchen, which was furthest away from her father's bedroom so she wouldn't wake him at this untimely hour. Then she quietly dressed in her room and waited till it was time to call in.

The stranger on the other side of the line had been the latest in a long row of participants she'd woken up since she'd started participating in the WB&N Wake-Up Service, but she'd never been _this_ deeply affected by a conversation before.

When the stranger hadn't answered his phone after the third try, the volunteer on the switchboard had warned her that the next attempt would be the last. Belle had murmured 'of course', feeling a bit sorry for the new participant on the other side of the line. Three attempts was regulatory, but she persuaded the operator for one last try. Perhaps the person on the other side of the line had displaced his or her cell phone, or had left it on silent. Or perhaps the participant simply slept through the sound of the phone ringing, unaccustomed to be woken up by it.

When at the second ring a grouchy man finally picked up the phone she'd actually felt relieved, ignoring her blood running cold at the withering greeting uttered with the hint of a Scottish brogue. Being used to waking grumpy participants of the program, she'd simply carried on, knowing that they would come around eventually. And so did this Scot.

His terseness gradually disappeared and she couldn't help but feel drawn to his deep, soft voice and his formal, but adorably confused replies as he stayed on the line with her. And for the first time in the four months she'd done this, encouraged by her friend Ariel, she actually regretted when the conversation with the stranger on the other side of the line ended.

Ariel (or "Ary", as she wanted to be called, because "The Walt Disney Company had condemned her to a lifetime of lame jokes about fish out of water with her name and fiery hair colour") was an archivist and colleague of Belle's in the Portland Public Library where Belle worked as a librarian. They'd met at UVM, the only four years in her life Belle had lived separate from her father. It was the bubbly redhead who had encouraged the dreamy bookworm to be more outgoing and actually meet people instead of reading about them in books. Belle had agreed but stipulated that it would be on her own terms. With a meaningful look Ary had taken a sip from her coffee and had said no more.

When Belle told her two days later what she'd signed up for Ary had lifted her eyebrows but knowing that Belle never went for the obvious like going out like a normal person her age she'd refrained from commenting on it. Over the past few months she'd woken up many people, men and women, with friendly conversation. If the number of proposals were something to go by – three since last week – she was pretty good at it, even though grumpiness and melancholy outweighed by far the affection of the ones proposing to her.

Almost every day she had another amusing story to share with Ary, whether it would be the teenager who taught her to say 'Where's the bathroom?' in Klingon, the old woman who kept talking about her forty-eight cats or the cell phone salesman who apparently had only joined the service to lure participants to his website. Belle's new early morning hobby had actually become a source of amusement for them over a cup of Starbucks coffee.

Not with this man though. No, him she'd taken to her heart when he'd told her about his shop and had asked her if she liked stories in an almost hopeful tone as if he'd recognized a kindred soul. Belle knew she had.

And then came the moment when she understood that the man with the fascinating voice didn't have the faintest idea why she was calling him. As the pieces of the puzzle of his wariness finally fell into place she'd immediately known that it had been his son who'd signed the man up for this. Though he hadn't explicitly said so subconsciously she'd sensed that it was just the two of them, because of which the son, Baelfire he'd called him – such an unusual name – had felt the need to have his father meet other people. And in a typical teenage way he'd chosen something to his own liking, not necessarily the first option his father would have considered for himself.

It had happened a few times before, that she'd called someone who had been surprised by her phone call but most of the time those people had responded with anger or had hung up immediately. Those times she'd felt like a telemarketing salesperson being brushed off and she'd seriously considered quitting the whole thing. This man however had responded differently. Instead of trying to brush her off he'd actually opened up to her about his son, about his love for him and the most astonishing of all the insecurity he felt after six years of separation from his son. His honesty and trust had touched her as deeply as what he'd told her. She didn't quite understand how the separation had come to be and she'd noticed that he'd chosen his words very carefully but she'd felt that his grief was real – and very understandable. Quietly she'd listened, captivated by his voice and her reflex reaction had been to provide him with the reassurance he so clearly needed. When his whispered words of gratitude had reached her ear she'd actually shivered.

The words 'Goodbye Miss Australia, wishing you a very nice day too,' still sang through her head long after the volunteer had taken over the conversation. Absent-mindedly, the woman had asked Belle the standard question if she would be interested in being put back on this participant's rotation list. Up until then Belle had only asked to be put on someone's rotation list again a few times, remembering her reason for signing up – to find someone she could make a real connection with. This time however Belle had accepted with such vigor that even the volunteer temporarily woke from her stupor and remarked, "Wow, that must have been a nice conversation," before disconnecting.

"Belle? Belle, what's taking you so long?"

A knock on her door and the sound of her father's agitated voice behind it made her turn around, and finally she lowered the long silent cell phone.

"Erm, yes, Dad. I'm coming," she called back hastily as she unnecessarily smoothed out her woollen, plaid skirt and cast a look into the mirror on her door. Hair and make-up were as they supposed to be. It was a good thing she always got ready before calling in otherwise she had had no choice now but to go to work in her nightgown. Not that Gaston, the library's Head of Security, would mind. No, the less clothing she wore the better he liked it. Creep.

Hastily she shot her feet in a pair of high-heeled, red patent leather pumps and swung the door open.

"Good morning, Dad." She bent over and gave the weary looking, portly man a light kiss on the cheek.

"Belle?" Moe inclined his head as he watched his daughter grab her bag. "Are you all right?" It was not like Belle to miss breakfast with her father before they would go to work: she to the library and he to the flower stand opposite it. That's how it had been since she'd graduated from university and began to work as a librarian in the city where she grew up.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Dad." Belle cast him a cheerful smile. "I'm afraid this conversation was a bit longer than normal."

Her father knew about her endeavour though he didn't quite understand wherein _exactly_ lay the fun of calling up complete strangers to wake them up. But as long as it remained safe it was fine with him. He shook his head and shrugged into his warm coat before he put up his cap. It promised to be a cold, snowy day, and a difficult day for the florist in his flower stand. Thankfully, this time of year he only sold hardy flowers like bulbs and roses.

Moe cast a sideways look at Belle who hastily put on her coat and took a banana from the cramped the kitchen-sink unit.

"I still don't understand why you won't wear more sensible shoes for this time of year, Belle," Moe remarked as he opened the door. To his surprise Belle looked at him with an odd smile on her face.

"How else can I be Miss Australia?"

As so often happened an expression of confusion passed over Moe's features while he looked at her. Once again, she'd utterly lost him. When she offered no further explanation he grinned sheepishly and shook his head, knowing that he would probably never completely understand his daughter.

It was time to go to his flower stall, where the flowers waited for him. And flowers he would always understand.

* * *

 "And? How was your wakie-wakie this morning?"

From above the edge of a carton Starbucks cup a pair of curious hazel eyes studied Belle who raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her own caramel latte.

"Different."

"Different how? Aren't they all?"

Belle could sense that her reply had piqued Ary's interest and to her horror she blushed.

Immediately Ary's eyes widened. "Oh, different that way! Tell me!"

Belle groaned and ducked her head so far that her hair fell into her face. When they'd gone for their daily cup of coffee she'd resolved to be casual about this because, really there wasn't much to tell that could possibly be of interest to the bouncy archivist, but she'd blown it with the first word she'd said.

She groaned. "Really Ary, don't take this the wrong way. This is just me being awkward."

"Oh no," Ary wagged the small plastic fork she'd received with her muffin before Belle's nose. "I will be the judge of that! After all, I'm the one who told you to go out and meet other people. Now tell me this instant."

Belle's eyes followed the plastic fork. "Ary, you know that you're waving with a fork, don't you?" She said dryly and it had the desired effect.

With a distasteful wrinkling of her nose Ary put down the fork and instead leaned on her folded hands, giving Belle an expectant look.

Belle sighed. "Well, he – "

"Aha, a he! I knew it!" Ary declared triumphantly, cutting her off and Belle sent her friend a mock exasperated look.

"Do you want to hear this or not? Really, with that attitude I don't understand how you and Eric have managed to develop the stable relationship you're having."

Ary's fiancé was a handsome dark-haired man who worked at a cannery in this small coastal town called Storybrooke. His uncle owned the company and he was busy familiarizing himself with the company to take over management one day.

"True love, Belle. He doesn't mind my enthusiasm," Ary smiled sweetly as she subconsciously picked up the fork again, pointing it at Belle once more. "But you were saying…"

"Well, it appeared that he was one of those people who didn't know why I called," Belle ventured cautiously and took another sip of her caramel flavored coffee as Ary looked at her with immediate understanding and sympathy.

"Signed up by someone else again?"

The archivist had heard enough of Belle's stories to immediately draw the right conclusion.

Belle nodded, plastic spoon still in her mouth. "His son."

The archivist let this information sink in and Belle could see that she turned over several possibilities in her clever mind.

"His son," Ary repeated finally as she leaned back in her chair. "Oh my God, he's eighty years old and his son feels guilty for not paying him enough visits in the care home. I would go for the son, Belle."

Belle rewarded her friend's sceptical expression with a mock glare. "His son is fourteen, Ary and please, stop pointing that fork at me."

Reluctantly the redhead put down the plastic device and cupped her chin.

"He told you that?" She mused thoughtfully. "So, he didn't hang up on you. That's different indeed. Was he angry with you?"

"Obviously," Belle nodded. "I can remember him telling me that I had to have a very good reason for calling him at this hour, _'Dearie'_!"

She emphasized the last word, echoing Mr. Scotman's intonation and Ary raised her eyebrows. It was quite unusual to hear the word being used as part of what was basically a reprimand.

"Actually, I had trouble waking him up at first," the librarian added. "I had to ask the volunteer to redial three times before he finally answered the phone."

Belle rolled her eyes meaningfully and the two friends shared a mischievous grin.

"So… what won him over then?"

Belle licked her spoon as she gave the question a few moments of thought.

"Actually, I don't really know. I guess at first I kind of took him by surprise." She was still a bit unsure about it. "The first ten minutes or so he just went along with the conversation, while he was waking up. I said something silly about telephone operators and asked him why he got up so early. He said that he liked to get up early to make his son breakfast and we talked a bit about his work. He owns a store."

That was possibly the dullest, least appealing way of describing the magical moment in which they had connected over their shared love for historical artefacts, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to tell her friend about it. It felt as if she would taint the delicate memory if she laid it bare to Ary's scrutiny.

Fortunately, Ary focused on something else she'd said.

"Telephone operators," she repeated her friend's words tonelessly. "You started to talk to him about telephone operators. I'm sure that was a real icebreaker."

Belle shot her a look and then shook her head.

"Anyway, when he realized that his son must have signed him up for the wake-up service he didn't get angry like I had expected, but instead he told me about him. About having to miss him for… a while, about how it is to raise a teenager and how much he loves him…"

Ary followed Belle as she took another sip from her coffee and caught the slight, positively dreamy smile that passed over Belle's lips before they disappeared behind the whipped cream. Her hazel eyes widened.

"Oh my God… You like him. You really like him."

Belle's head jerked up and a startled cough ripped her chest.

"Wha –, no!" She spluttered with difficulty as the coffee went down the wrong way. Through the tears springing in her eyes she saw the paper napkin Ary kindly held out to her and took it.

"Yes, you do," Ary replied calmly but with a twinkle in her eyes. "You are a very sad woman who falls in love with someone you've only spoken to over the phone for about thirty minutes and most likely will never speak with ever again."

For a moment it seemed as if Belle would be objecting fiercely, denying all accusations but then she put her hands before her face and groaned. Ary was right. Why else had his voice been inside her head for the entire morning, calling her Miss Australia and telling her about his son? And why else did she feel this tingling feeling in her stomach as her mind played their conversation over and over and over again?

"Really," Ary found as she took another satisfied sip from her coffee and discovered that it was empty, "he must be quite something to make such an impression on you over the phone at seven in the morning. I can't think of another person that's more difficult to impress than you."

"Six A.M.," Belle whispered, which gained her an almost frightened look of disbelief from the archivist. "And there is a possibility that I'll speak with him again. I asked the volunteer operator to put me on his rotation list again."

At seeing the triumphant grin appearing on Ary's bright face Belle immediately regretted telling her. But to her relief the archivist put her hand on hers and said with a warm smile, "Good for you, Belle. I always knew you had a bit of the adventurer inside you. But will you be careful? There could be a real beast lurking behind this sleepy man who cares so much for his son."

Belle thought back of his first words to her that had been dripping with menace and his remark 'I'm a difficult man to love, dearie'. She shivered but nonetheless put on a brave smile.

"I will."

Ary nodded approvingly and stood up. Quietly, Belle followed her example.

"So, now we'll just have to wait until your Sleepless In Seattle turns up again. And do not give me that look, Belle because you are going to tell me when you speak with him again."

"Sleepless In Seattle?" The librarian shot her friend an exasperated look.

"You know, the movie," Ary said as she shrugged on her coat. "When Tom Hanks is this widower with a kid and Meg Ryan hears him on the radio and because he must remain anonymous he's Sleepless – "

"I know the film, Ary, but if you think that I'm going to stalk this stranger halfway across the country…" Belle interrupted her with a shake of her head. She'd already tentatively wondered where he could live and somehow she had the idea that it was a village or a small town, which might as well be located in the Mississippi bayous. There was no telling with his accent.

"She wasn't stalking him, Bells. She was just trying to find out if she'd heard her True Love on the radio."

Now it was Belle's turn to wrinkle her nose. "Just like you were 'watching' Eric you mean?" She made two imaginary brackets in the air. "I believe it was me who eventually had to push you toward him."

Ary grimaced but couldn't deny the facts. Belle had made her stumble toward Eric when he was cleaning fish. Sometimes she thought she could still smell the stench of fish in the clothes she wore that day and which had been pressed against his gleaming apron when he'd lovingly wrapped his arms around her.

"Have you already thought of a nickname?" Ary wrapped her scarf around her neck.

"For whom?" Belle was still musing over Mr Scotsman's place of residence.

"For your Sleepless!" Ary rolled her eyes at her absent-minded friend. "When you speak with him again you can't continue calling him… what did you call him this morning?"

Belle smiled sheepishly and decided it no harm to tell Ary a little bit more. "He called me Miss Australia."

Though Belle had started with calling him Mr. Scotsman and he'd simply returned the favor it felt nice, if not more intimate that they would have nicknames for one another.

The two of them walked outside, ducking into their coats as soon as the first gust of icy wind whirled around them. November in Maine. It was waiting for the first snow.

Ary thought Belle's confession over. Even after all these years that she lived in the States Belle's Australian accent was hard to miss. "That's… actually quite funny. I was going to say lame, but actually I like it. So, what do you call him?"

Belle smiled enigmatically as the entered the uneventful building where the public library was housed. "Not telling you. But only because you don't have to know everything, not because it's something kinky."

"Hmm, Belle and kinky, sounds good to me." Piped up a voice behind them. "Speaking of kinky, when will we see those so called leather pants you supposedly own?"

Belle's gaze darkened and she cursed inwardly. Why had she had to say something like that while passing Gaston? Truth was she hadn't been paying attention to his presence in the hallway and now she wouldn't hear the end of it. Gaston was the head of security of the Portland Public Library and for some reason unfathomable this he-man's eye had fallen on the petite brunette. He was interested less in the books she adored than the gym next to the library. But it didn't stop him from forcing himself on the dreamy bookworm even though she'd made it clear to him from the start that she didn't reciprocate the sentiment. She couldn't help but think that his obtrusiveness was in such sharp contrast with Mr. Scotman's quiet reserve.

Belle opened her mouth to retort but Ary got ahead of her. "Leave her alone, Gaston. When will it finally get into that thick head of yours that she doesn't like you?"

The tall, broad-shouldered man cast a disparaging look at the archivist. Underneath the suit jacket his muscles bulged out as he shook his dark, luscious mane.

"Nonsense, she's just shy with me. Perhaps if you would stop sticking your little nose in all those books and take a look at what's right in front of you…"

Suddenly the head of security blocked Belle's path and she had no choice but to look up.

He smirked. "Then you wouldn't be so shy anymore." He lowered his voice to a velvety tone that was clearly meant to mollify her but it only made Belle's skin crawl.

Without a word, but glaring icily Belle simply stepped past the hulk of manly smugness and signalled Ary to follow her.

When she'd almost reached the door, Gaston called after her, "Don't forget about those leather pants you promised me, Belle baby."

"Don't call me baby," Belle grumbled back and turned her back on him.

When they were out of earshot she sighed. "If any man should be called a beast, it should be him."

Ary looked at her sympathetically. From the first day Belle had set foot in the public library Gaston had pursued her relentlessly and much too often by means of what could only be described as verbal harassment. Belle had refused to report it though, knowing that he could end up jobless. And Belle – sweet, caring Belle – could not find it in her heart to take that risk. Just like she hadn't moved out with her father yet, because she felt she had to take care of him. It was no wonder she'd taken a liking to an anonymous man on the phone who'd professed his care and love for his son. A smile appeared on Ary's lips.

"Don't mind him, Bells, he doesn't know any better," she reassured her friend and Belle nodded with a slightly weary but grateful look in her eyes before she turned to go to the reading room.

"Hey Belle. One last thing."

The librarian stopped and cast a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifted expectantly and her friend cast her a mischievous smile.

"You do realize that by nicknaming you "Miss Australia", your Sleepless was trying to find out if you're married, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Delintthedarkone for being a wonderful beta!


	3. Spinning Rotation

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 3: Spinning Rotation**

* * *

 

The bedroom was shrouded in darkness the early morning in November. Only the hands of the alarm clock slowly moving toward 6 A.M. were an indication that the man in the antique bed would soon be pulled from his slumber, though not by the unrelenting alarm clock itself. There was a slight chill in the air that made the man breathe a bit heavily. His tousled, half-long hair lay sprawled on his pillow and his brows were furrowed a bit, not finding enough rest to relax completely, even when in sleep.

Cold air made the heavy curtains sway, and Mr. Gold burrowed a little further under the covers when an old-fashioned cell phone that sat on the nightstand started to vibrate. A split second later a shrill ringtone ripped through the peaceful silence.

Immediately the eyes of the sleeping man flew open and with a suppressed gasp he jolted to life. Automatically, his hand grabbed the phone and before he'd even regained full consciousness he'd already flipped it open with movements that betrayed routine.

Not bothering to look at the screen, as he knew that it would say nothing more than 'Private number', and without clearing his throat he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

He jumped a little when a rough voice bellowed in his ear.

"WAAAKEEEE UUUUUPPPP! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Gold let himself sink back against his pillow; eyes closing as he distastefully increased the distance between the phone and his ear. A sharp sting of disappointment stabbed his heart, while the bellowing man on the other side of the line tirelessly repeated himself. He sighed inaudibly.

Like every morning since the silvery voice of Miss Australia had whispered into his ear, he wondered how long before that bloody rotation would come around and she would greet him again, the only reason for him to keep going with this madness.

In the past few weeks he'd been woken up by many different people, men and women alike. He'd been sung to, both in Chinese and English, shouted at, attempted conversation with about trains, and all variations in between. One man had spontaneously begun reciting (or rather badly butchering) Robert Burns at him when he'd heard Gold's accent. He still shuddered at the memory. And now there was this… drill-sergeant from the Midwest to add to the collection.

He lowered the phone until it rested against his shoulder and closed his eyes again. No matter who had called to pull him from his slumber over the past couple of weeks, it was never the one he was waiting for. Every night since her sweet voice had sounded through the small speaker, he had fallen asleep with his eyes fixed on the device as if willing it to be her who would be calling him the following morning. And every morning, the restlessness he refused to call hope plummeted to the basement when it again wasn't her.

_Miss Australia._

It had slipped from his lips before he'd known it, the silly endearment, which in hindsight had been a rather blatant way of inquiring after her marital state. Though it wasn't until he'd gone to his shop and turned the closed sign to open that he realized that she hadn't corrected his playful assumption.

Three weeks had gone by, and the memory of her voice still lingered in the back of his mind, a cheerful echo that dispelled the dusty silence of his shop. It didn't matter if he polished silver, repaired a clock, valued a new acquisition or simply stood behind the counter for a moment. The entire collection of trinkets and artifacts reminded him of their conversation, made him wonder if she'd notice the intangible, magical atmosphere if he would bring her here... Most of the time this was the moment where he'd cut himself off, not allowing for his fantasy to imagine anything more beyond another conversation with the Australian. The situation was already ridiculous enough as it was.

As the drill-sergeant at the other side of the line worked through his routine the thought crept upon him that maybe… maybe she hadn't asked to be put back on his rotation list after all. After all, she'd never actually said that she would, only that it was a possibility. And how long could it possibly take for this rotation to end and start another one? There couldn't be _that_ many people demented enough to sign up for what they even dared to call a service.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he pushed back the feelings of doubt and brought the cell phone back to his ear.

"Thank you," Gold stopped the drill-sergeant's bellowing on a peremptory tone and without waiting for a response, hung up. He lowered his phone and an annoyed sigh escaped him before he decisively threw the covers off of him.

He'd better get up and get ready or Bae would get ahead of him again.

* * *

 

When Bae entered the basement later that evening he found his father where he expected to find him: behind his spinning wheel. For a moment he remained standing in the doorway, looking down the three steps and into the large space, which was lit by a single bulb dangling from the wooden ceiling. Though the basement looked old and worn, it was clean and lacked the earthy scent that was so typical for old basements. A workbench was shoved underneath the high basement windows, and the walls were aligned with shelves containing tools and parts for what clearly was an extension of Gold's workspace in the back of his shop. The light shone down on a large, antique spinning wheel in the middle of the room that was decorated with elegant carvings; its wielder looking small and a bit out of place in his tailor-made suit. There was an odd serenity on his features as his foot, still clad in his gleaming dress shoe, rhythmically pumped the pedal to encourage the gently purring wheel; his hands carefully holding the wool being spun into an even thread.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

Gold didn't look up from the turning spinning wheel as he fed the wool into the orifice, but Bae knew his papa was listening.

"There's a field trip tomorrow. We need to be at school at 7 A.M."

His father finally turned around and his foot stopped pumping the paddle. The wheel came to a halt and the melancholy expression that always rested on Gold's features when spinning disappeared. A teasing smile formed on his lips.

"That will be tough for you then," he replied and Bae scowled as he went down the steps and crossed the basement.

He knew his father woke much earlier than he did and though he was grateful for it, it had proved physically impossible for him to do the same. He was a teenager after all.

"You should have told me before, though." Gold gave his son a mildly stern look. "What do you need?"

The teenager shrugged and gave the wheel an awkward turn, watching it slowly rotate before coming to a halt. Bae had always been far too restless to understand his father's hobby.

"Just the usual. We're going to some museum in Boston."

Gold suppressed a smile at the indignant reply as he stood. One day he expected Bae to regain his interest in museums, perhaps show _his own_ child around like Gold had done when Bae was just a wee thing clinging to his good leg, but today his son was too much of a teenager to care. He ruffled his boy's hair affectionately, which the teen allowed because there was no one around to see it.

"We better pack your lunch for tomorrow then."

* * *

 It was well past 11 P.M. when Gold pushed the alarm button and put the alarm clock back on the nightstand.

Half an hour earlier than normal.

He would already be up tomorrow morning when the next participant would be calling. A smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes. He was a reluctant participant and certainly not an easy one but for the first time he was looking forward to answering the phone to someone else than the Australian woman. If it was only to tell the confused person on the other side of the line that at 6 A.M. he was too late to wake him up.

* * *

 When the following day's expected ringing cut through the early morning quiet, Gold turned from where he was standing at the window, staring at his own gloomy reflection against the darkness outside as he put on his tie. On the nightstand his cell phone was vibrating and ringing, harshly demanding his attention at this ungodly hour. An amused smile appeared on his features.

Today was Bae's field trip and he had to make sure his son would arrive at school before the bus would be leaving for Boston. The parents had been asked to bring their children to school as it was too early for the school bus to ride. Gold expected that the appearance of his black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham would cause quite a stir among the other parents, who had never seen the frightening Mr. Gold doing something as homey as taking his son to school. In a grim sort of way, the prospect of their astonishment actually amused him, knowing that it would force them to completely revise their views of the town beast.

Without haste he crossed his bedroom and for what seemed the hundredth time already glanced at the screen. 'Private number' it said. Better to get this over with quickly, he decided and pushed the reply button, lifted the phone to his ear and grabbed his jacket all in one flowing movement.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dearie, but calling to wake me up requires you to get up before me."

The person on the other side of the line didn't reply, obviously stunned by his very awake, very alert greeting. Gold didn't mind. The ghost of a smirk still remained on his lips as he flicked off the bed lamp and turned to leave the room. But when he opened is bedroom door he realised that the other side of the line had remained silent still all this time.

"Dearie?" He repeated uninterestedly like he did when someone called the shop and fell silent, which happened most of the time. He would simply continue what he was doing, patiently waiting for the person on the other side of the line to regain his or her courage.

At this moment his time was limited though with Bae going on this field trip.

"Mr. Scotsman…"

The wind was knocked out of him as a completely unexpected, wonderfully sweet voice cut through his sarcasm, the Australian accent melodious and little disconcerted. Suddenly his heart pounded in his chest and he actually had to lower himself on the edge of his bed as the voice, her voice, which he had longed for to hear again, tentatively reached out to him.

The first thing that flashed through his mind was a heartfelt curse. This could not be happening. Why did she have to call on _this_ day of all days? He had been hoping to hear her voice again for the past three weeks, had endured one strange phone call after another and now that she'd finally returned to him he was in a rush and lacking in time. Why, oh why could fate never smile down on him like it did on others?

Gold realized that he'd had yet to say something in response.

He closed his eyes.

"Miss Australia, it's good to hear your voice again."

This was a grave understatement of the feelings the two words falling from her lips had stirred up with him and he let out a quiet breath in a desperate attempt to will himself back to calmness.

"Yours too," was her soft reply and for a moment she sounded almost like she'd missed him. A warm feeling spread through his chest as he tentatively entertained the idea that maybe she'd been looking forward to speaking with him again too.

"How are you doing, Dearie?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice automatically taking on a reassuring tone that made his eyes soften. "But you're up early. Even earlier than last time… Why?"

"Well…" Using his cane as leverage he stood up, her question reminding him of his fatherly duties. Quietly opened his bedroom door. "My son's school decided that today is a perfect day for a field trip to some museum he failed to remember the name of, so I have to get up early to drive him to school. Speaking of which – he should be in the bathroom by now, taking a shower. Do you have one moment?"

"Of course! If you're busy then maybe we should cut it short for today-"

"Oh no, Dearie, I'm not letting you go so easily as that," Gold interjected quickly.

He nudged open Baelfire's bedroom door with his foot and as he lowered his phone his accent acquired a harsher edge while he called on a low voice, "Bae, it's time tae get up. If ye don't, I swear I'm gonnae drop ye off in yer pyjamas. It's yer choice."

A pained grumble mounted from somewhere inside the dark room and Gold let the door stand ajar so the light from the hallway would convince the boy to get up in case his father's promise hadn't already.

With his cell phone back to his ear he made his way downstairs, the tap of his cane soft on the polished wooden floor.

On the other side of the line Miss Australia chuckled. "Poor boy. How is he doing?"

An indulgent smirk momentarily passed over his lips as he carefully stepped into the kitchen and automatically opened a cupboard, taking out a frying pan. He turned towards the refrigerator. "Oh, he's as fine as a teenager can be, I suppose. Just having trouble waking up."

"Did you think about what we talked about last time?"

"Yes, you were right about that." His voice sounded strangely subdued as he absent-mindedly slid his tie between two buttons of his shirt and ignited the stove.

"If…" She hesitated. "If you don't mind me asking, how did it happen? Baelfire's disappearance I mean."

She sounded terribly careful but if he'd had any reservations about telling her, her sweet mentioning of his son's name would have swept away all of that. It sounded as if she'd been thinking about this for some time, which caused his heart to make a small jump.

"I don't mind," he told her. "After Bae's mother passed away, the man with whom she'd shared her bed thought he would be granting her final wish if he'd take her son with him."

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening around the spatula as the memory resurfaced.

"And I let him," he recalled bitterly. "I thought that was what Bae wanted. So I let him. I regretted it the moment my boy was taken away. He looked back over his shoulder, and I saw the panic in his eyes. Sadly it took me another month to start realizing what it meant. I searched for him ever since."

"But you found him," her voice gently pulled him from the horrible memories and he responded almost automatically.

"Yes, I found him."

It had cost him six long years and he'd gone down many roads that were too questionable to elaborate on but apparently that's what it had taken to get his son back.

"It was quite a surprise for him to find himself living in the US all of a sudden and going to a real American middle school," he added dryly to lift the atmosphere and it worked. Miss Australia chuckled.

"I know the feeling," she sympathized with his son. "It's very exciting. But the most important thing now is that you can take care of him again," she supported him. "I'm willing to bet you're making him his breakfast right now."

He let out an amused huff as he looked at the sausages and black pudding in the frying pan. They started to spread a mouth-watering scent through the kitchen, which was sure to have Bae clumping downstairs eventually. "You're quite perceptive, Miss Australia."

"Ah well," she laughed. "I can clearly hear something sizzling in the pan through the phone. I was wondering… Is Baelfire a common name in Scotland?"

"No." He turned over the black pudding. "Bae's mother was into Celtic mysticism when she named him, but it's a good name in my opinion. Strong. It means bonfire."

The only thing Milah had done right by her son, he thought bitterly but didn't say out loud.

"It's a beautiful name," Miss Australia agreed sincerely. "One you won't soon forget, so erm…"

Her voice turned serious all of a sudden. "… Did you talk with him about the wake-up service?"

For a moment he stayed silent to assemble his thoughts on what exactly they'd said to each other about this the previous time they spoke.

"Yes, I have."

"And?"

"He said that he unchecked the option that would have me calling other people myself," he responded dryly.

"That's it?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Yes. There was nothing more to say."

She burst out laughing, a freeing sound that swept away any uneasiness that time and waiting had built up. Once again he found that he was basking in it, that warmth and cheerfulness as he put bacon and black pudding into the pan and his closed-off features softened.

When true to his word, Gold said nothing more on the matter, Miss Australia changed subjects.

"So, how did you like the past three weeks of wake-up calls?" She inquired curiously and it felt as if she was standing next to him, peeking past his shoulder to check the contents of the frying pan with a cheerful smile. He wondered what she looked like.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he replied honestly. "Have you ever been lectured about the inflorescence of late flowering bulbous plants at 6 A.M.?"

He was glad to hear that he had made her chuckle again.

"Constantly," was her surprising response though she didn't elaborate. "What are your favourite flowers if I may ask?"

"Bellflowers," he responded a little distractedly while making sure the eggs would slide into the pan while keeping the yolk intact.

But despite his effort he did detect that for some reason her breathing hitched slightly at his reply and immediately he wished he knew what she was thinking. Instead, he settled for a gentle reminder.

"If I remember correctly this time is actually your turn to tell me about you, Dearie. So, why won't you start?"

"You're right," she readily admitted and his lips curled in a satisfied grin. "What would you like to know?"

Her voice sounded a little breathless and his eyelids fluttered closed at the tingling sensation it caused in his stomach. 'Your address, your telephone number, your name,' he thought but he suggested courteously, "How about we start with your work? What do you do?"

Over the past weeks several possibilities had passed through his head and he was keen to know if he'd judged her right.

"I'm a librarian," her voice sounded from the other side of the line and a smile involuntarily formed on his lips. He was pleased – and not only because he was right about her but also it shed more light on the person behind Miss Australia. There also was something appealing about her being a librarian, a profession like his own; studying life from the side-lines.

"Ah well, that explains your interest in my pawnshop," he deduced easily and she chuckled lightly.

"I can't help myself sometimes, I'm afraid. Actually, I wish I hadn't agreed on telling you more about me. Instead of talking about me I could have listened to more stories from the pawnshop."

"I'm flattered that you want to hear an old man prattle on about his baubles Dearie, but ah, I'm afraid the deal is non-negotiable," he lightly teased her, "it sounds like a good title for a book though: 'Stories From The Pawnshop.'"

She gave him a hearty laugh. "I'm sure it would find its way to our library. We actually have a large section about antiques & collectibles. It sounds like a great addition for either that section or fantasy and fairy tales. What do you think?"

"Well," he paused, "I do have in my possession a beautiful compass that once belonged to a father who lost his two children in the woods…"

He was rewarded with an audible gasp coming from the other side of the line.

"Hansel and Gretel!" Miss Australia exclaimed excitedly and he smirked in satisfaction, pleased with her enthusiasm.

"If you say so," he replied easily. "Though you shouldn't jump to conclusions before you've read the whole book, my dear."

"Hm, I seem to remember that one," she mused in mock thoughtfulness. "When I was younger I went through this period when I decided to read only half of each book to save time and read more. Not one of my best ideas. I should have known that with books the sting's often in the tail."

"Not only with books, Dearie," Gold replied as he thought about the shocked faces of people when the full extent of what their deal with him entailed became clear to them. It wasn't as if he hid the truth from them, they simply didn't bother to properly read the agreement he presented them with. And he didn't consider it his responsibility to educate grown men and women. But this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Miss Australia. Instead he asked, "What was your best idea?"

"Going to university," she replied immediately and he nodded in agreement. "I majored in English literature, but through the years I've also become proficient in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese and Russian. At the moment I'm studying to learn Arabic."

"So, your work is your hobby then," he established, not a little impressed. A lovely voice and educated too. She was getting more interesting with each minute he talked to her. "Am I correct that you learned all these languages because you prefer to read books in the original language?"

"Yes," she confirmed a bit shyly, sounding terribly vulnerable all of a sudden and he realized that she most likely had had to defend herself on her choices before. In response a completely inappropriate feeling of protectiveness roared to life.

"You're quite the learned lady, Miss Australia. The entry requirements for the pageant must have been raised considerately. My compliments to the Aussies."

His deep voice held just the right notch of appreciation. It worked. She laughed softly.

"I barely meet the requirements to even start dreaming of becoming Miss Australia for real, Mr. Scotsman. Take the guidelines for height for example. Mine is the perfect height for a ballet dancer, not for a model or a Miss."

Something primal within him purred possessively at her revelation, understanding that she would fit him perfectly.

He cast a look at the ceiling, estimating the time it would take Bae to come downstairs judging by the sound of his trudging around and placed the sausages, bacon, black pudding and eggs on the plate he'd set out for his son. When he was done he went to stand before the kitchen window, looking outside. He didn't want to spoil his precious time with Miss Australia with his own breakfast; he could always stop by at Granny's for a sandwich after he'd dropped off Bae at school.

"So, how did this love for the written word come to be?"

Always having been a very good judge of people he'd felt that something about it was important to her the previous time they'd spoken and he knew his feeling had been correct when a painful silence descended between them.

"Dearie?" He asked after ten seconds, deliberately keeping his voice subdued.

"I'm still here." On the other side of the line Miss Australia's voice suddenly sounded weak as if there was a lump in her throat. Then she sighed as if to try and expel some of the tension she obviously felt. "I… I don't know… if I can tell you."

"I believe we made a deal, Miss Australia," he responded quietly but he knew that if she refused to tread this water he would let her off the hook.

She let out a small, watery laugh. "Oh, it's not that I don't _want_ to tell you, Mr Scotsman. It's that I fear that I will burst into tears halfway through and I would hate for that to happen."

"Why would you burst into tears?" His eyes flitted from one side of the garden he could see to the other as his features crinkled in a rare display of sympathy. She sounded so vulnerable despite her clear effort to stay strong that he wished he hadn't asked her about it.

"Because reading became my hobby and passion when my mother got sick. We moved to the States, my Mum, Dad and me, when I was six years old and she fell ill about a year later. Cancer. Inoperable."

She sighed again, clearly to give herself a moment and he closed his eyes, knowing what would be coming. It was the consequence of living in a country where there was no such thing as the National Health Service, however flawed the system might be.

"She went through a number of operations though before that verdict came and every time she was convinced she would get better," she told him quietly. "But she passed away half a year later and there wasn't any money left to return to Australia. I doubt my father would ever have left her behind though."

Her voice, which had become a bit hoarse, had taken on a higher note and he knew she was on the verge of bursting into tears like she'd feared.

"Your mother sounds like she was a fighter," he ventured carefully.

"Yes, she was. The doctors said that that was what had prolonged her life, not the treatments." Her voice sounded small and her dejectedness actually broke his heart.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, the endearment falling from his mouth before he knew it. How long had it been since he'd used that word with a woman? Perhaps a few times in the beginning of his relationship with Milah – certainly not with Cora. If anything he meant what he said, which was remarkable.

Miss Australia however was deserving of it, even though he'd only heard her voice over the phone. He wanted her to stay strong for him because that's what she wanted. He chose to ignore though that this concern for her could only be attributed to his rapidly increasing fondness for this woman; a fondness he didn't quite want to acknowledge at this moment.

He turned around when Bae entered the kitchen after having only faintly registered the sound of his son clumping down the stairs. The boy threw him an odd look, as he silently pointed at the filled plate and then at the hallway mouthing 'living room' before he disappeared from the kitchen. His cane added to the sound of his footsteps and for a moment he wondered if Miss Australia would pick up on that but if she did, she didn't comment on it as she let out a shaky sigh.

"Anyway…" she cleared her throat and her voice grew in strength. "The public library is opposite from Dad's work, so as soon as I had learned to read I started to visit almost every day to read."

"It was a way of forgetting," he supplied and she confirmed in a small voice, "Yes."

A long moment of silence descended between them and he sat down on the nearby sofa, his cane resting against his knee.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Gold said with a tone that came out surprisingly tenderly, "for confiding in me. I must say, that outside Bae, it's been a long time since someone trusted me enough to confide in…"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then took a deep breath. "May I ask if it brought you what you hoped for?"

It took only one more moment then he'd expected for her to answer but then came her melancholy reply, "Actually… no. Not entirely. Many books reminded me of her, but I noticed… that I came to love it, because they helped me preserve the good memories. Does that make sense?"

Gold gave a knowing nod, although she couldn't see it. "Yes, it does."

But before he could say more she added fiercely, "But that's not the only reason why I love books. I simply love to read about adventures and I kind of live through my books."

Then she let out an adorable groan that sounded much more like his cheerful Australian girl again. "Oh my, that sounds terrible! I didn't mean to say that I don't live at all…"

He smiled as he sat down on the sofa. "Don't worry, Dearie. Rest assured that I'm not thinking that you are a sad spinster who lives amidst piles of books and hasn't the seen the light of day in three years."

"Ouch, you only make it sound worse!" She protested laughingly and automatically one of his smirks appeared on his face.

"My apologies, Miss Australia. It won't do for me to accuse you of something that applies more to myself than anyone else. Let me rephrase that." Mild amusement laced his courteous tone. He genuinely enjoyed their banter. "We may sit in our library and yet be in all quarters of the earth."

"John Lubbock," she added immediately and a soft smile passed over his lips in response.

For a moment she fell silent.

"You know what I mean," she then said softly, gratefully, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Then again…" she hesitated. "You know… Books have surrounded me since I can remember and sometimes it feels as if I've gone the easy way by becoming a librarian. And I start to wonder if there's more to life than just… this."

He quirked up one eyebrow. "The librarian wants to go on quests for spears?"

On the other side of the line Miss Australia laughed amusedly. "You know about those Librarian films?"

"Yes, Bae made me watch them with him. They're actually rather amusing."

"And very good for promoting library sciences. All of a sudden we librarians look cool," she replied jokingly, "instead of – what did you just call me? A sad spinster?"

"Apologies not accepted then?" He inquired with a velvet tone, which earned him a mischievous laugh.

"You're forgiven, Mr. Scotsman but it's not forgotten."

"You're a sensible woman," was his approving comment. "But how about those adventures you seek?"

"Well, I'm actually not a very adventurous person, but apart from the four years when I went to college I've never left this provincial town where I grew up. I would love to see more of the world, you see? Create something new, even if it's only in the next town. I could become a librarian somewhere else."

"Then you should do that," he told her on an encouraging tone. "If it's your father you're worried about you should know that you could live your life and still support him. There are other ways. You just have to explore the possibilities."

"Papa?"

He lifted one hand and cast a look at the mantel clock. "I'll be there in a minute, Bae. Put your coat on and don't forget your scarf. It's cold outside."

"But, Papa…"

He turned around slowly, his phone to his ear, an unreadable expression on his features.

"Yes, Bae?"

Bae wore a hesitant, slightly awkward expression and shifted his weight from one leg to another.

"You haven't eaten anything," Bae mumbled as he raked his hand through his thick dark curls.

Gold's expression softened immediately. "It's all right, Bae, I can get take away on the way back. Now go get your coat. I'll be there in a minute."

Bae hesitated and his eyes flicked to the phone plastered to his father's ear but then shrugged and left the living room.

"You have to go." A warm voice with an Australian accent on the other side of the line established. "Was that Bae? He sounds like a nice boy. He really cares for you."

Gold's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yes, that was him. We have to go, I'm afraid. Otherwise I'll be driving him to the museum myself."

"We can't have that happening, can we? I'm afraid there's nothing more than to say than 'see you later'. Or 'Hear you later', I suppose," Miss Australia said regretfully.

"Can I surmise that you'll ask to be put on my rotation list again?"

"Of course, Mr. Scotsman. You shouldn't doubt that," she replied, her voice laced with some sadness. It was clear she was as reluctant to end the conversation and have fate once more decide when they would speak again as he was.

He clenched his teeth, knowing about the rules but very much tempted right now to just begin blurting out his phone number until the computer would terminate the conversation. That would be a ruthless end to a wonderful conversation though so he decided against it.

"One more time," he promised her as much as himself, "One more time and I swear I'm going to ask you for your address, your telephone number – everything, the first thing I hear your voice again, Miss Australia."

She drew in a halted breath. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Mr. Scotsman."

He closed his eyes. "Until next time then, Miss Australia."

On the other side of the line the Australian woman let out a defeated breath. "Until next time, Mr. Scotsman. I can't wait."

When he terminated the call he almost viciously pressed the red button on his cell phone.

"Papa?"

The intensely frustrated look hadn't completely disappeared from his features when he looked up and saw Bae standing in the doorway holding his father's coat, car keys and his permission slip for the field trip in his arms. His face showed a scrutinizing look that Gold had never seen with his son before as he studied his father.

"Are you ready to go now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go to my beta Delintthedarkone for her commitment.
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	4. Lost

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 4: Lost**

* * *

 

"Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. You know where the living room is."

The front door was barely open and a wineglass was being pressed into Belle's hands before she'd even stepped inside. Belle reflexively grabbed the wine glass as Ariel quickly dashed back to her tiny kitchenette.

"Is everything all right?" Belle called after her friend. An arm waving at her with a spatula from behind the wall acknowledged her.

"Everything's under control," assured Ary and although Belle doubtfully lifted her eyebrows she decided to leave her friend to her cooking. Instead she put down the wineglass and shrugged out of her coat.

Tonight was what the two friends had dubbed 'girl's night', meaning that Belle traditionally came over to Ary's place on Saturday evening after she was done helping her father at the flower stand. On girl's night they ate, laughed, watched feel-good movies and drank cheap wine (or the ridiculously sweet cocktails Ary made).

Ariel lived in a small apartment over a distinguished men's fashion shop that her father had deemed suitable for a young lady living on her own. Whenever Belle visited with Ary she always made sure to cast a look into the window display, enjoying the calm, classic elegance of the clothing and the shop.

Tonight she'd spotted a single rose among the well-tailored suits and it had brought a faint smile to her lips as she pressed Ary's doorbell. It was almost Valentine's Day.

Belle nestled on the creaky couch wine glass in hand and stared at the flowers on the coffee table before her. They were past their glorious peak, wilting in their vase but still beautiful in a lush, 17th century still life painting kind of way. The librarian suspected they were a gift from Eric who had visited his Ariel last weekend. The bouquet looked like it had been bought at a filling station and a smile tugged at Belle's lips as she pictured the man rushing for Portland to meet his girlfriend only to realize that he'd forgotten to bring a present for her with him while just passing the city borders.

Belle took a small sip from her glass and turned to lean over the back of the sofa with an enigmatic look on her face. It was time for a casual announcement.

"I spoke with him again."

The message had the desired effect. Immediately Ary's head appeared from around the corner, eyes wide.

"You what?!"

The librarian hummed something indiscernible in her glass of wine while Ary flopped into a rickety chair, dinner on the stove immediately forgotten.

"Tell me everything there is to know!"

"What about dinner?" Belle inquired after the sound of pots boiling on the stove. Ary made an impatient hand gesture.

"Not important right now. I know you like your veggies burned. Now tell me! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I wanted to yesterday, but you were so busy that I thought…"

Ary violently shook her head. "No, no thinking next time Bells. You just pull out that phone and let me know immediately, you hear?"

Belle pulled the face of a child caught with its hand in the cookie tin at Ary's mock sternness.

"Now," Ary leaned forward eagerly. "Was he glad to hear your voice again?"

After three weeks the archivist had come to anticipate Belle's mysterious Sleepless coming back around almost as much as Belle did.

Belle's blue eyes shone with an unmistakably dreamy quality as she thought back of her early morning talk with Mr. Scotsman the previous day and how his voice had nestled with renewed freshness in her memory.

"Yes," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "Though he was already up and awake."

Ary amusedly lifted her eyebrow. "You don't say. A true Sleepless in Seattle, like I said."

Belle rolled her eyes at her. "His son had a field trip day. And clearly he had some trouble getting up. There was the odd parental admonishment during our conversation. Actually, he threatened to drop his son off at school in his pyjamas."

Though Mr. Scotsman had lowered the phone, she'd been able to follow everything that had been said. And had been very surprised by the thickening of his accent while he woke up his son. She couldn't deny that the throaty sound had caused her heart to skip a beat.

Belle took a sip from her wine. "You know, I think that provided with the chance he would actually have followed through with his promise."

"Ah, the joys of being a parent to a teenager," Ary sighed sagely, obviously referring to her father who at one point had no less than seven teenaged daughters to care for. "So, what more did he say? Has he already admitted to having committed various murders?"

Belle stuck out her tongue and said with false casualness, "No… But he did say my name."

"He did what?" Ary cried, almost falling from her chair in amazement. "How can that be?"

"Well, not consciously," Belle made the subtle distinction, "but when I asked him what kind of flowers he liked he said Bellflowers."

Immediately Ary froze in her excitement looking at the librarian as if she'd lost it.

"Bellflowers. He said that he likes Bellflowers," she repeated slowly and Belle, missing the sceptical tone, nodded absent-mindedly, her deep blue eyes showing that her thoughts were miles away.

She hoped he hadn't noticed her hitched intake of breath as her name innocently rolled from his lips. The way he'd said it lent a certain gravitas to her name, making it sound more rounded than through the sharper American pronunciation, like quality Bordeaux. And she'd liked it. Very much.

"Oh heavens. You're even further gone than I thought," Ary sighed and discreetly ducked her head to avoid looking at the delicate blush blossoming on Belle's high cheekbones. Perhaps taking a look at the cooking pots wasn't such a bad idea after all, she decided as she lifted herself from the cane chair.

"So, what did you two talk about this time?" Ary asked, already willing to address the both of them as a set as she set course to the kitchen.

Belle cast her a mock desperate gaze after her but then smiled and shook her head. "Me actually. He asked about my work and we talked about books and what I love about them…"

"Please, tell me you didn't list the languages you speak." Ary's head appeared around the corner, her wide eyes staring at her with some alarm and Belle pulled up her eyebrows bashfully.

"Actually, I did. Shouldn't I have done that?"

Ary groaned.

"If you'd like him to think you're no fun, yes. Now it seems as though you do nothing but stick your nose in books all day," she quoted their mutual friend Gaston and both girls wrinkled their noses at the thought of him.

"But he understood immediately that I learned those languages to be able to read my books in the original language," Belle defended herself. "He's actually the first person not to ask me why I bother when there are English translations available. He complimented me."

Ary's features softened. Belle had spent enough time defending why a pretty little thing like herself had her nose stuck in books and in her book this man now had already earned his Brownie points for refraining from doing so.

At that moment it didn't seem like he'd been bored, more like pleasantly surprised.

"Hm." The archivist turned this new piece of information over, undoubtedly adding it to a list of sorts as she drained the green beans. "You got lucky this time then. What else did you tell him?"

Belle cleared her throat and put her wineglass down.

"I told him about my Mum," she then said softly and immediately Ary's sceptical expression turned into a sympathetic one. Having lost her own mother she hadn't known any better than growing up with her father and six older sisters, but she knew what it was to miss a mother. Belle's fate had been especially hard, as she and her father had been left behind in a strange country that in time was to become their new home but at that time was anything but.

It was a huge step for Belle to tell someone she didn't know all to well, let alone a stranger, about losing her mother.

"How did he respond?" Ary returned to her modest living room with two plates and Belle smiled when she spotted the indeed burned green beans.

"He understood," Belle summarized the insightful comments he'd made.

Ary's features softened at seeing Belle's melancholy expression.

"When will you two speak again? That will be the time when you get his phone number, right?"

Belle laughed. "If he agrees to it, yes."

Ary shot her a look. "Of course he does, Bells. Don't be daft."

She suspected that whoever was hiding behind this Sleepless identity he was as fond of the librarian as she was of him.

"He has already hinted toward something like that," Belle reluctantly admitted, gravely toning down his intense promise. "Anyway, if the last rotation is anything to go by it will at least take another three weeks before I speak with him again. Although… When the volunteer asked me if I was interested in being put back on his rotation list again he was actually surprised when I agreed. Apparently he scared off some of the other participants." She smirked at the thought. He had warned her before that he was a difficult man and clearly some other participants had encountered this side of him as well. Somehow she even suspected him of willingly reducing the number of people on his rotation list to make the rotation end quicker this time.

"Perhaps this way we will meet again sooner. That is of course, if he extends his subscription past this trial month," she added without thought as she took a bite from the deliciously seasoned halibut filet Eric had provided Ary with. Then the meaning of her words slowly sunk in and she took in a sharp breath, almost choking in her fish.

"Oh God, his subscription!"

"What about it?" Ary looked up in surprise.

"He has to extend it if I am to stay on his rotation list," her friend exclaimed with wide-open eyes. "Otherwise he will have to sign up again and a totally random group of participants would be assigned to him. He would never return to me again."

"So, he'll extend his subscription," Ary shrugged, not seeing the problem.

"You don't understand," Belle groaned as she let her head fall in her hands. "He didn't sign up for this himself, remember? It was his son. His son holds his account and should know the conditions. Our fate lies in the hands of a fourteen-year-old boy who probably won't think about technicalities like these in a million years."

"Oh." Now Ary began to understand. "So, if his son doesn't extend his subscription he will be out within one week from today… Am I right to guess you two didn't talk about such mundane things yesterday?"

"Yes," Belle confirmed plaintively from her hiding place. "How could I be so stupid?"

"Well," Ary tried to encourage her. "Perhaps his rotation list has gotten so small that you'll return to him within this one week and there won't be a problem at all."

It sounded unconvinced and Belle just shook her head. "Not gonna happen."

Suddenly cloud nine had evaporated to leave only the glaring truth – this morning, when she'd reluctantly hung up on Mr. Scotsman was most probably the last time they'd ever talked to each other. A wave of nausea washed over her and Belle pushed away her plate.

"I'm sorry, Ary. I think I had enough."

Her friend only nodded understandingly. When she had had difficulties convincing her overbearing father that Eric was the right man for her, she too had shoved away many a meal.

"It's up to fate then. You'll just have to hope that the boy extends his father's subscription."

Belle looked up and Ary was truly touched by the pained looked in her expressive blue eyes. "I think I need one of your cocktails now, Ary. And that feel good film you promised me."

Ary shoved back her chair decisively. "And you'll get it. You'll just sit down on the couch and let me take care of you."

* * *

 

From his place behind the wheel of his gleaming Cadillac, Gold absent-mindedly followed the bustle of the parking lot of mothers ushering their teenage sons in minivans or SUVs while he waited for Bae to appear. The boy and his team had just had their first football match of the season: visitors against the neighbouring town of York.

It had been a strange experience for the pawnbroker.

He'd been the only father watching the game, his hands lightly resting on the handle of his cane. With a bemused expression on his face he'd defied both cutting wind and awkward stares from the mothers with their minivans as his dress shoes sunk away in the mud around the playing field.

The match was entertaining and Gold had been pleased to notice that his son was performing quite well as a midfielder. Nevertheless his thoughts had kept wandering back to the wake-up service that held Miss Australia's identity hostage. The wake-up service that suddenly and unexpectedly, ceased.

Gold was startled on Monday last when he'd been woken by his alarm clock instead of his cell phone. It had been an alienating experience after months of being woken by someone, and he realised that he'd become used to rising to the many voices of the WB&N Wake-Up Service. Some he'd even begun to recognize as they apparently had agreed to be put back on his rotation list. The reason why was beyond him, because he treated everyone with the same biting sarcasm underneath a veneer of politeness, but apparently some people were prone to masochism, he decided. But all of that had disappeared when on Tuesday and Wednesday his cell phone had remained silent too. On Friday he'd made a casual remark about it to Baelfire who had looked quite startled, which had not soothed his growing nervousness on the matter.

Gold was pulled from his musings when the right car door was pulled open forcefully and a windblown teenager, now dressed in training gear, plumped down on the car seat.

"Hiya Papa, I'm here. Sorry it took so long. There weren't enough showers."

He watched as the boy reached between them and placed his kit bag behind his reclining seat and the back seat. For a boy his age Bae was surprisingly careful, to Gold's covert relief.

"It's all right Bae. I'd rather wait a few more minutes than the smell of body odour accompanying us on the way back," he commented as he started the car and turned on the lights. This Sunday afternoon had been particularly gloomy.

"So, how did you like the game?" Bae asked as they slowly drove off the park, lagging behind the mothers with their minivans and SUVs.

"It was a good game," Gold nodded in appreciation. "You played well."

Gold himself had been a mediocre player at best when he was still able to move around without the cane but as any Scot he loved the game and he could see that Bae did actually possess some talent with the ball.

"And how did you like the soccer moms?" Bae leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, his cheeks gaining a rosy colour in the comfortable warmth inside the car. Gold cast his son a sideways look and caught the slight smile on his son's lips.

"Is that what they're called?" Gold inquired casually as he took a left turn.

"Yeah." Bae's smile broadened to a smirk. "It's different here from Scotland. Here it's the mums who drive around and watch the game."

"So, I've noticed," Gold commented neutrally. "Wasn't that Josh's mother who came up to me and tell me that there's no need for me to drive you to the game because, and I quote 'the mothers' rotation system got it all covered'?"

Bae snorted with laughter. "Yes, that was Josh's Mum. She… likes to organize everything around her. It's really annoying sometimes. So, what did you say?"

A quiet smile passed over Gold's lips. "I told her that I wasn't aware that my presence required more reason than my being a father who wants to support his son for his game."

"Ow, she won't thank you for that," Bae grimaced and his father gave a small shrug.

"I'm not in the business of pleasing people," he simply replied and Bae grinned amusedly.

For a moment silence descended between them as Bae watched the pine trees rush by while dusk was setting in. Then he cast a hesitant look at his father.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Bae?" Gold said and saw from the corner of his eye that his son was staring straight ahead as he awkwardly fumbled with his hands. He noticed that Bae had tensed up and he frowned.

"What is it, Bae? Is something wrong? Were you hurt during the game?"

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment he scanned his son's features but saw nothing that should worry him.

"No, I'm fine, Papa. It's just... You know, you never said anything about the wake-up service I signed you up for," Bae then blurted out. "Not if you hated it, or if you liked it. Two times you've been on the phone really long and I think it was the same person you were talking to, but…"

"Calm down, Bae." Gold frowned in surprise at his son's sudden outburst.

All this time he'd thought Bae had not wanted to hear about it and to be honest he had been reluctant to tell the fourteen-year-old about Miss Australia as he was still confused by the feelings she stirred within him. Apart from that there wasn't much to tell that could possibly be of interest to the boy, as he didn't even know her name, where she lived or what she looked like. And after their years of separation Bae was still settling in and he wanted to provide him with a stable environment as much as possible.

"You're right. Those two times I have been speaking with the same person, but I think that's not what has upset you right now." There was something else, he felt but couldn't quite pinpoint.

Bae shook his head. "I never told you why I signed you up for the wake-up service, didn't I?"

Then, without waiting for a response, he confessed, "I did it because I'm worried about you."

A shadow passed over Gold's face. "You're worried about me? Why?"

This wasn't something a parent generally liked to hear from their child.

"Because… because…" Bae swallowed and looked out the window. "Because you're lonely."

His voice was soft as he said it. "I noticed when I came live with you again. You're isolated. And I'm worried that you'll end up alone if something might happen to me… again."

Harsh words but they were true. The father who'd embraced Bae after six long years of separation had become a man withdrawn from the community he lived in. His position was unassailable as he seemed to practically own the entire town and was the town's sole legal adviser but he had no real relationship to speak of.

Bae had been surprised to find out that his father had moved to America shortly after Kilian had taken him with him. His new home wasn't their modest crofters' cottage in Argyll but a salmon Queen Anne villa in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. He had become a rich man, who seemed to have burned his boats when he left Scotland behind. The only thing that his father seemed to have taken with him upon his arrival in the small town in New England was his spinning wheel.

Over the past six months Bae had found that his father had done everything he could to make him feel at home in this new environment but the boy had also noticed that when the surprise of his arrival in Storybrooke had worn off the only real relationship he had was with his newfound son. The townspeople seemed to know next to nothing about his father and even treat him with clear wariness.

His father hadn't always been like this. Back in the small village in Argyll his life as a widower hadn't been easy as the villagers seemed to blame him for something that had to do with his limp and he had been a single parent to his son, but at least they'd been part of the community.

In Storybrooke though his father seemed to keep himself apart from the rest of the town, his interest in the townspeople going no further than the business they brought him.

Bae had decided to take matters in his own hands.

He'd spent a few days musing over the best way of introducing his father to other people when he'd stumbled upon this wake-up service while browsing the Internet for a school project and he'd known this was what he was looking for. It was simple, anonymous and most importantly – the participants came from all over the country, not just Storybrooke.

Signing his father up had been surprisingly simple. There had been some questions, clearly meant to prevent people from signing up other people but he knew his Papa well enough to navigate through the procedure. The hardest thing was to put his father's cell phone on his nightstand the night before the first phone call. The man never took his phone, an out-dated model that didn't even have a colour screen (let alone Internet) to bed and Bae knew it would only awake suspicion if he were to try and convince him to not leave it on the bar in the kitchen that night. So, he'd set his alarm clock at 3 A.M. and snuck into his father's bedroom to put the cell phone on the nightstand. He'd made sure that the ringtone's volume was raised to the maximum, not caring if this would scare his Papa out of his wits three hours later.

Bae had gone to bed preparing himself for his father's wrath but his reaction had been nothing like he'd expected. He'd expected anger, disappointment, confusion perhaps, but not his hastened appearance more than half an hour later than usual. This had gone quicker than he'd thought, Bae had established as he morosely ate his cereal drenched in cold skim milk. If this were to happen every morning he would have to get used to the taste of sloppy cereal instead of the Scottish breakfasts he'd gotten used to upon arriving here. Except that it didn't, at least until the day of his field trip and his father again had been on the phone longer than ever before.

Gold cast him a troubled look. "Oh, Bae…"

For once the pawnbroker was at a loss for words. Denying Bae's feelings on the matter would equal rejecting them but he felt horrible that Bae felt this way about his father's life.

He lifted his hand from the steering wheel and put it on Bae's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze without taking his eyes of the road. It was a tender moment filled with melancholy and affection and Gold was glad that Bae didn't shake him off.

"So…" Bae eventually cleared his throat. "Who is she?"

The ghost of a smile passed over Gold's lips as he pulled back his hand. His son was a clever boy, clever and persistent.

"She was the participant who called to wake me up the first time. We had a nice conversation and she asked to be put back on my rotation list again."

"You called her 'sweetheart' the last time you were on the phone with her," Bae flung in his face, watching his father closely.

Gold kept his features straight, not showing his surprise. So, he'd heard that? "Yes."

"Why?"

"That's none of your concern, Bae," he responded mildly but with an undertone that accepted no objections.

Bae changed his tactics. "What did you two talk about?"

"You, among other things," Gold now replied truthfully and Bae was actually given a start.

"Me?"

Bae's eyes widened. In typical teenage fashion the fourteen-year-old hadn't thought about that possibility yet.

"Yes, Bae. Actually, I let slip your name during the first phone call. She then guessed correctly that you were the one to have me signed up for it."

Bae bowed his head. "Did you want to speak with her a third time?"

Gold chanced another quick look at his son as the road stretched out before them and saw his son's miserable expression, as his use of the past tense didn't go by unnoticed by him.

"Yes, I would very much like that," he said carefully and Bae sighed, looking away.

"Fuck."

"Language," Gold responded automatically but his heart wasn't in it. "What's the matter, Bae?"

Bae raked his hand through his hair. "I had hoped that… Whatever. When I signed you up for this you got this trial subscription, which would be ending after a month. I thought it was perfect in case you didn't like it."

The expression on his features suggested that he had expected as much when he repeated, "You never said anything about it and… so, I kind of forgot that you have to actively extend your trial subscription if you want to stay on the service. And…. And then you mentioned last Friday that you hadn't received any wake-up calls in a week… and… and…"

The boy's defeated voice trailed away and Gold motionlessly stared at the road ahead at his son as he tried to understand what Bae was saying, or rather not saying as he focused on his feet, not daring to look his father in the eye.

When he finally broke the silence Bae flinched.

"So, if I understand correctly," he said in measured words, "I'm no longer participating in the wake-up service and the only way for me to continue with it is to sign up again, in which case the rotation list again will be assigned randomly. The chance however that she'll be included will be very slim."

Bae looked positively distressed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Gold closed his eyes as something inside of him roared up in anger about the injustice. Miss Australia was gone. He would have to sign up again and wait endlessly for her to return to him, which could take years. Again fate was not looking upon him with kindness. As if it would ever be. Subconsciously he clenched the wheel and he set his jaw.

No, he'd had enough. All these weeks he'd played along because of the promise of knowing Miss Australia's identity within three telephone calls but as usual fate had denied him an easy outcome. It didn't matter though. He was used to it. With Bae he'd turned the world upside down to find him back and he decided that if that was what was needed than he would do the same with Miss Australia.

"Are you angry with me?"

Bae had seen his father's reaction and his small voice pulled Gold from his bitter thoughts.

He sighed. "No Bae. Don't blame yourself. I'm responsible for my own actions. I should have asked you about the terms and conditions."

The boy seemed a little relieved and for a moment they were silent as Gold drove past the sign that welcomed them to Storybrooke.

"So… What are you going to do now?"

Bae was the first to break the silence with a look at his father's unreadable face. He couldn't tell what his father was thinking right now but over the past six months he'd learned that he had to pay attention to what wasn't being said. And he knew that a plan was already forming in his father's mind.

Gold smiled grimly. "I don't know, yet, Bae. But I will find her."

* * *

 

The pocket watch Gold had recently acquired had proven to be an exquisite piece of clock making and on this rainy January day he'd spent the entire afternoon taking it apart, cleaning and reassembling it _._

He looked up when all thirty clocks in his shop began to chime telling him that it was five o'clock and time to close up shop. Quietly he rose from his seat, took his cane and limped from his workshop to the store in the front. For a moment he stopped, watching the randomly built organized chaos and his thoughts wandered to Miss Australia who would have loved his shop but now would never get the chance to set a foot inside. He wondered when she would realize that Mr... Scotsman had disappeared. It probably wasn't for another two weeks that she would begin to suspect something. He clenched his teeth at the injustice of it all.

A week ago, after Bae had confessed that he hadn't extended his father's subscription, Gold began to write down every piece of information he'd come to know about Miss Australia during their conversations, like he'd done before with Kilian Jones. It helped forming ideas on where to start looking and it ensured that he didn't forget anything. Despite that they had spoken only twice for about half an hour each time the amount of information she'd shared with him was actually surprising. She hadn't hesitated to tell him about herself, which only strengthened his resolve to find her. The small paper in his inside pocket was now filled with bits of information about her in his angular handwriting.

She was Australian and she had moved to the States with her parents when she was six years old. Her mother had passed away when she was still a child because of which she still seemed to live with her father despite having been grown up since long. He worked across from the library where she worked now as a librarian. The town where she lived was big enough to have its own public library. She loved books, which had made her extremely knowledgeable and a polyglot. There was something about flowers that he couldn't quite pinpoint but felt was important and she had welcomed everything he'd told her with such warmth and care that he'd been hopelessly drawn toward her and there was nothing he could do about it.

In the quiet of his shop where he was seldom disturbed he would often pull out the piece of paper and stare at it, trying to figure out where to start as his mind echoed her cheerful voice trusting him with all the information he'd written down on there. At night when Bae was asleep he'd made a list of public libraries in the United States of America, only to look at the dishearteningly large result.

There must be another way, he mused. Another way that didn't involve having to call every bloody library in the country asking for a female librarian with an Australian accent… But no real alternative to his original idea had presented itself thus far.

The sound of the bell announcing a visitor made Gold look up and his impassive features softened in a smile when Bae stumbled inside.

"Hiya, Papa. It's past closing time. You ready to go?"

Gold nodded and carefully put the watch in his vault behind one of the many paintings on the wall.

"Papa, I've been thinking," Bae said as he leaned against the counter. "What exactly does this Australian woman know about you?"

Gold cast him a look as he raised his eyebrows. He'd told Bae some facts about Miss Australia, feeling that the boy had the right to know and in the knowledge that the secret would be safe with him.

"She knows I'm a pawnbroker originating from Scotland and that I'm father to a fourteen-year-old named Baelfire. Does it matter?" He replied absent-mindedly as he crossed the shop on a measured pace, the sound of his leather shoes accompanied by the familiar thud of his cane.

"Well, yes, actually. It's great!"

Gold turned around the closed sign. "It is?"

Bae nodded vigorously. "Yeah. It means that not only can you search for her, but you can reach out to her too."

He'd clearly given this some thought.

"In what way?" Gold shifted his weight from his bad leg to the cane as he turned to look at his son, a spark of interest in his eyes.

Bae gave him a huge grin. "Papa, have you ever heard of the Internet?"

"You mean the digital highway where you signed me up for that ridiculous wake-up service?" Gold made an elegant gesture with his ringed hand. "I might have heard of it, yes."

"Then, do you also understand that it won't do that in 2017 your shop still goes without a website?"

Gold's features softened as Bae smirked amusedly and he realised that for the first time since Bae had come live with him he felt free enough to banter with his father. It meant that he was beginning to feel at home and the thought warmed his heart with gratitude.

"I wasn't aware," Gold responded dryly but without his signature sarcasm.

Bae inclined his head. "You should be. I can build a website for the shop that will guide her to you if she decides to Google you."

"But she doesn't know my name and there must be hundreds of thousands pawnbrokers in the whole country."

Gold honestly didn't understand how this would help him.

"Ah, but you said yourself that she knows _my_ name." Bae spread his arms triumphantly. "I mean, how many Baelfires can there be in whole of the USA? And how many of them are the son of a Scottish pawnbroker?"

Gold nodded thoughtfully, already warming up to the idea but not quite understanding it yet. "I see your point, but how exactly is that going to work then? I mean you're my son, not an employee of the shop."

The boy let his eyes sweep along the shelves. "No, but I can build in search commands that will lead anyone who types in 'Baelfire pawnbroker' or 'pawnshop Baelfire' in any search engine immediately to the shop."

Upon his father's doubtful look, he gave him a teasing grin. "It's either that or a Gold family website."

Gold pulled a face at the idea then something occurred to him. "Can you also include common misspellings of your name in the commands? I never actually spelled your name out for her."

Bae nodded. "Sure."

His father smiled. "Do it, Bae. It's a good idea. But I would like to take a look at it before it goes online."

The teenager nodded vigorously, pleased that he could be of help in his father's quest. "Of course. Shall I get your coat? What's for dinner tonight?"

"One day I'm going to teach you how to cook for yourself, Baelfire Gold," Gold grumbled and received a chuckle from the back of the shop.

A moment later he pulled on his gloves and made sure that his scarf was tightly wrapped around his neck, then the boy and his father exited the shop and Gold locked the door.

From the corner of his eye he saw that Bae already sprinted toward the other side of the waiting car and he shivered as a gust of wind blew icy rain into his face.

Turning around Gold cast a habitually look at the other side of the street. The days were growing longer but it had been a sombre afternoon with much rain and the light of the streetlights already reflected on the glistening Main Street. Days like this he wondered why for heaven's sake he hadn't chosen to settle down on Hawaii instead.

As usual his gaze swept the streets when the headlights of a passing car illuminated the derelict building across from the street. It was a wooden building, about a hundred years old, which they considered ancient in this country, and actually quite iconic with its remarkable clock tower. But the building was boarded up, the clock was broken and nobody had noticeably been looking after it since he'd arrived in Storybrooke. The Storybrooke Public Library, that's what the townspeople called it though it hadn't been functioning as such for a very long time. The Widow Lucas had once said that there must still be a complete inventory inside.

As he stared at the building a sweet voice, dipped in a delicious Australian accent, gently nudged his thoughts.

'I would love to see more of the world, you see? Take up a new challenge, even if it's only in the next town. I could become a librarian somewhere else.'

A triumphant smile passed over his lips. And with the dilapidated building in view across the street he made his way over to his car. Suddenly he'd been presented with not one but two ways of finding Miss Australia. It was time to pay Mayor Mills a visit and remind her of one of her many unfulfilled election promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for the kudos on this story! I hope you liked this chapter too. As always many thanks go to my wonderful beta Delintthedarkone.


	5. In Search Of Golden Wattle

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 5: In Search Of Golden Wattle**

* * *

 Early Monday morning under a cloudy but relatively calm sky, Gold climbed the steps to the stately white house where the Mayor of Storybrooke held office. It was all he could manage not to charge straight into the Mayor's home on Sunday afternoon, brandishing the piece of paper that burned in his pocket. In Storybrooke he was known for his calm demeanor, so cool and collected he would be.

Inwardly, he was anything but.

His finger had barely left the doorbell before a slightly breathless secretary flung open the door. Even the mayor didn't dare let Mr. Gold wait on her doorstep.

The Mayor's office was an extravaganza of black and white, meant to intimidate every visitor who dared infringe upon the Mayor's precious time. Shining marble floors and expensive wallpaper with black bare trees reaching upward on a white background imposed a sense of foreboding that lingered long after the unfortunate visitor had closed the double doors behind them. The Mayor herself was as clinical and intimidating as her office; beautiful but frightening. The only person in Storybrooke unaffected by her blatant display of power was Gold; he'd known the ambitious woman from long before he settled down in Storybrooke and seemed to be the only person to be able to see behind the intimidating façade.

It had been rather unfortunate that he'd chosen to settle down in the one town where one year later Regina Mills arrived and became Mayor soon afterwards. It hadn't taken him long to realize that Regina was the daughter of Cora Mills, a woman thirteen years his senior and a fellow associate at the Boston based law office 'Leopold, Xavier and George' where Gold had worked his magic before deciding to snuff city life and move to Storybrooke. The older woman had taken an interest in him, recognizing the Scot's grim determination to make something of himself in his new home country. After Milah's resentment of him he'd been susceptible to Cora's attention. Ultimately Cora had become one of the reasons why he'd turned his back on Boston.

When Regina came to Storybrooke, she had delighted in the hope that this past association would grant her some leverage over the former lawyer, and complete domination over the small town. But Gold carefully established boundaries and made it clear he had no intention of encroaching on her territory, so long as she steered clear of his.

While she maintained administrative authority as mayor, Regina had been left with no choice but to quietly grind her teeth and simply ignore him while he gained proprietary ownership over practically the entire town, which feared them both in almost equal measure. Contrary to Gold however, Mills didn't bother to hide her intentions behind a pleasantly calm demeanor, but blatantly threatened those who were in her way. Subtlety wasn't her greatest asset.

"Mr. Gold, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The Mayor didn't look up from the memorandum she'd been reading when the pawnbroker stepped inside her office. As always she looked as neat as a new pin in her clinging black dress and with a silk Hermès scarf resting tastefully against her delicate neck.

"The library, Dearie. I want you to reopen it. Here's the job description for the new librarian, which is to be placed in all major regional newspapers in the country."

Gold limped up to her desk and pushed a piece of paper toward the Mayor. Regina avoided looking at him for a moment, delighting in feigning disinterest at every opportunity just to needle him. When the slender, ringed hand didn't leave her view, she lifted her gaze upwards.

Immediately she established that he wasn't asking. Her brows furrowed.

"And why would I do that?"

Her eyes were cold as she opened combat – every inch an ice queen as she waved at the chair before her desk. She was irritated, which was good. It would make it easier for him to manoeuvre her in the desired direction.

A slight smile tugged at Gold's lips as he took his time to sit down, resting his hands on the gold handle of his cane. She'd taken the bait.

"Because you promised it upon your re-election, Dearie," he patiently reminded her and a shadow passed over her perfect features.

Pursing her dark red lips she said dismissively, "There's no money on the budget for frivolities. Is that all?"

Gold looked at her with a mildly disparaging expression and tapped his cane on the ground.

"Indeed there was no money reserved for frivolities like tearing down a perfectly functioning playground and raising a new one on specially purchased land farther away from town. There was, however, some money put aside to pay for some necessary reparations on the library building, which would have also supported local construction businesses in these economical trying times."

Now Regina blanched. "You sold me that land yourself."

He inclined his head. "Indeed I did. I'm a businessman, Dearie. You were interested in buying land that was my property, and when two people want something a deal can always be struck. It has only recently come to my understanding that the money that went into this little project of yours was actually meant for the library. As a Council-Member this worries me."

"That old playground was unsafe and you know it," Mayor Mills hissed. Gold silenced her with a dismissive flourish f his hand.

"I'm not here for the playground, Dearie, but you're welcome to discuss your decision to relocate it at the next Council meeting. I would highly advise you to bring all your research reports grounding that assessment, as it will be a subject I am _almost certain_ will be brought up for discussion.

Her eyes spat fire at the silent challenge but she knew that he had her neatly cornered. Walking past, Gold made a show of studying the curtains as Regina fought to contain her anger. His long tresses, that defied his otherwise conservative appearance, gleamed in the early morning sunlight streaming through the window behind Mayor Mills as he waited.

Scoffing, she finally opened the document and quickly scanned the text inside.

Gold knew he had won, but he didn't allow the smug grin that wanted to turn the corner of his lips. This was still only the first stage of his plan. Patiently he studied the specks of dust floating in the sunbeams around him until she had established that he'd drafted up a solid job description that couldn't be criticised in any way. He'd made sure of that.

One perfect eyebrow shot up as Regina finally came across the one point he'd expected would cause some contention. "The salary?"

"Is in line with the prevailing market, Dearie," he responded pleasantly. Her polished nails dug into the paper and he knew the amount displeased her, but he had done his homework.

"Am I supposed to sit down with all the applicants?" She demanded with ill-concealed horror.

"No. The selection committee will consist of a Council-Member, a task I'm prepared to take upon myself, and two residents of the municipality with relevance to the vacant position. I suggest that one of them be Mrs. Nolan."

"Mary Margaret?" Regina's husky voice took on a shrill tone. "Why her?"

For some unfathomable reason Regina seemed to loathe the sheriff's kind-hearted wife. Gold knew that and suggesting her posed a risk to his plan, but it was a calculated risk. He was prepared to fight Regina on this.

"Should I remind you that Mrs. Nolan is a teacher in Storybrooke's primary school and therefore needs to work closely with the new librarian?"

He left out that Mrs. Nolan also had a very warm and motherly nature, and if Miss Australia would turn up she would at least receive a warm welcome from her, which was why he'd thought of her in the first place.

The corners of Regina's mouth tilted downward and he knew she was struggling with what he'd presented as a _fait accompli_.

For a long moment he waited until she finally drummed her fingers on the table. He could hear the hollow echo of her long nails against the polished wood. "The third member will be Sydney Glass."

' _Ah,'_ Thought Gold, ' _her lap dog from the Storybrooke Mirror'_. Apparently she thought she needed eyes and ears with this plan of his. Well, he couldn't be bothered about it. Mr. Glass was going to have his patience tried to the limit, because this selection committee wasn't going to hire anyone but Miss Australia.

"As you wish, Madam Mayor." Graciously he inclined his head and she cast him a suspicious look.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this, Gold. You've never bothered with the library before."

"Well, perhaps I'm more concerned with your upcoming re-election than you are, Dearie."

Gold smiled casually as he stood up and tapped on the paper on her desk. "Don't forget, my dear – all the major regional newspapers. I'm sure our friend Mr. Glass knows exactly how to go about this."

"And by 'all the major regional newspapers' you mean: nationwide?"

"Yes." He quirked up one eyebrow in mild sarcasm, but Mayor Mills refused to let it faze her. She narrowed her eyes.

"That's quite unusual, Mr. Gold, not to mention that it will cost quite a lot of money. Please explain to me why limiting this to Maine, or even New England won't suffice."

Her features had hardened as she held his gaze. She was challenging him but it was a legitimate question: why would a small village in Maine possibly want to attract applicants from halfway across the continent?

The answer was simple really; because Gold had no idea where Miss Australia could possibly live. She might as well have been calling from Mississippi for all he knew. There was no telling with her accent. The only thing he knew was that the town was big enough to possess a public library and that she worked there as a librarian.

But, as it was looking right now Gold already got what he came for, so he decided to give the woman some credit.

"That's a good question, Madam Mayor. It is my belief that the current state of the library requires that we find a librarian who isn't afraid of a challenge. Therefore, a nationwide publication of the job description seems in order."

For a long moment she held his gaze as if trying to find the truth behind the dark, unreadable mirrors that were his eyes until she gave a terse nod. Courteously he bowed his head in response, satisfied. He knew he'd won.

* * *

 

Regina kept her promise. Within two days the job advertisement showed up in the vacancy section of the Portland Press Herald and a quick search of the Internet yielded results from all over the country. That evening, Bae excitedly showed him the first draft of the new website for the shop.

The two of them perched behind Bae's desk in his bedroom, illuminated by the computer monitor and the last vestiges of sunlight peeking through the window. Gold eyed the organised chaos that was his son's room with a wry smile; Gold kept a pristine house and often halfheartedly demanded that Bae keep his room tidy, but more to re-establish the normality of the relationship between a father and his teenage son. Inwardly, he was utterly delighted at the lived-in feel Bae's presence engendered; a football here, a guitar there, wayward socks like fallen soldiers on their way back from the laundry…

"How do you like it?" Bae interrupted his thoughts, trying to divert his father's attention. Gold sat up and peered at the glowing screen.

"This is the homepage. On the left you can find the menu. I made three for all three of your businesses."

Gold studied the screen. He had to admit he was pleasantly surprised. The homepage had a classic and professional look and feel, just as he wanted it.

Yesterday Gold had watched as Bae took several pictures of the shop from the outside and of the inside with his new camera. It had been a sunny day, which was important according to Bae. Gold had even acquiesced to his son's request to pull up the Venetian blinds and let in some direct sunlight. His normally dark shop took on a warmer, more inviting feel that pleased him.

Gold started nodding his approval. Then he narrowed his eyes.

" _Hey there, welcome to da Gold shop and stuff_?" He read.

Bae grinned, his features relaxing. "I had to mark the place where the text will be placed. Perhaps you could write something instead…?"

"I think that indeed will be for the best," his father grumbled. "What do they teach you children nowadays?"

"I've been homeschooled by a pirate for six years, Papa," Bae gave back on a light tone and despite the small sting in his heart, Gold grinned.

He reached out and gave his son a pet on his dark head. "All right, you're a cannie lad. Now, how about I take you to Granny's tonight and you can have one of those hamburgers you're going on about for the past week?"

* * *

 Mrs. Nolan's eyes grew wide with surprise as Mr. Gold finished his request. Then she shook her head in the typical, childlike manner of hers, her short, dark hair gleamed in the bleak autumnal sunlight.

It struck Gold that she wasn't wearing any of her usual charming little hats; until he realised it was currently balancing on the head of the blonde bouncy ball of energy next to her. The six-year-old girl was the only inhabitant of Storybrooke who actually showed some real excitement when she ran into him and even though the sole reason for that was her attraction to his teenage son, her lack of trepidation toward him secretly pleased him.

Gold didn't quite understand why Emma had taken a liking to Bae, which the teenager found both funny and awkward. But as it turned out she was one hell of a football player, so his son taken it upon him to teach her a few tricks he'd learned in the streets of Drogheda, Kilian Jones' hometown back in Ireland. That seemed to be the sole reason why the sheriff and his wife, David and Mary Margaret Nolan were among the very few people in this town who didn't give him a wide berth.

"You wanted me for the selection committee and the mayor allowed it? Why?"

"Mommy, can I go inside to see Baelfire?"

Mary Margaret Blanchard Nolan ignored her daughter, as Gold sent the schoolteacher a smug but at the same time oddly mild-mannered smile.

"Well, you must admit that your position as schoolteacher makes you the ideal candidate to act in Storybrooke's best interests when it comes to hiring the new librarian."

He'd answered only part of her question and the pale, dark-haired beauty knew it. He could see she felt uncomfortable suddenly having become at stake in a game between Storybrooke's two frightening people. And although Regina was far more bothersome for the sweet schoolteacher, she still wasn't sure if the man facing her with the usual intense look in his deep-set, dark eyes frightened her even more.

"Mommy?"

When Emma's mother still didn't react the little girl grew weary of trying to get her mother's attention and decided upon another approach she expected to be more successful.

"Mr. Gold? Is Baelfire around?"

He inclined his head to see a pair of hazel eyes looking up at him expectantly and he couldn't help the almost gentle smile forming on his lips.

"He's in the backroom, Emma. Perhaps you two can go for some ice cream? Just tell him I said it's all right."

He dug up some coins from his coat pocket, which Emma took with a huge smile and a sideways look at her mother. It seemed to finally snap Mary Margaret from her state of mind in which she held Mr. Gold's gaze with a searching stare. With a quick glance at her daughter she nodded.

For a moment she hesitated, then ventured, "Can I turn the closed sign?"

"Emma!" Mary Margaret gave her daughter a hard stare but Mr. Gold cast a quick glance at his pocket watch and nodded indulgently. "It's almost closing time, Mrs. Nolan. You can ask Bae to help you reach it, Emma."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "All right, then."

Emma's smile broadened then she bolted into the dusky shop, her long blonde hair waving in the wind.

Mary Margaret turned back to Mr. Gold, a searching gaze in her eyes.

"Please, tell me that you didn't just mention me to get me into even more trouble with Regina than I already have."

Gold's smile faded.

"Of course not," he said a little sharply, actually feeling a bit hurt. "I only deemed it necessary that someone knowledgeable on the subject will be present, and who will be able to put the applicants at ease. I have some doubts about Mr. Glass' talents in that area."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth but no sound came out, as she understood what he was saying.

"Thank you, I guess," she breathed, taken aback.

"It's settled then," he established pleasantly, as Bae and Emma brushed past him in at breakneck speed, heading for the ice-cream parlor. It should have been enough for the stern pawn-broker to lash out to the children but to Mary Margaret's surprise Mr. Gold only turned his head and called after his son, "Bae, don't let Emma get off the pavement."

Bae grabbed Emma's arm and turned mid-movement to take a few steps backwards, an apologetic grin on his face. "Yes, Papa. Thanks, Papa!"

Mary Margaret watched them disappear inside the ice-cream parlor. "You raised him well, Mr. Gold."

The Scot allowed for a small smile to ghost over his features as he shifted his weight. "It's a work in progress."

He could see that Mrs. Nolan couldn't help but feel touched by his considerateness of her little daughter. For the first time since she'd met the pawnbroker she gave him a smile.

"What I should have said, instead of accusing you, is that I'm glad you convinced Regina to reopen the library. I have been hoping for it to happen for some years now."

For a moment he didn't react, looking down on Mary Margaret, thinking he'd heard her wrong. Had she just been thanking him? He couldn't remember when the last time was someone in Storybrooke had genuinely thanked him for something. Not that he'd given the townspeople much reason to, but the reopening of the library, the private his reasons for it might be, might actually hit upon a wish that ran much deeper in the community than he'd thought.

An insecure expression passed over Mary Margaret's features under his stare but to her credit she didn't look away.

His features softened. "You're welcome, Mrs. Nolan," he replied with a small nod. "However it's too soon to start cheering as it looks like we have quite a few interviews ahead of us."

A delicate frown appeared between her eyes. "Really? How many have responded to the job ad then?"

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he once again shifted his weight. "About three hundred people," he responded easily, cautiously raising the pitch of his voice. "And the deadline hasn't closed yet."

Mary Margaret's eyes widened for the second time. "So many? In what newspaper did Regina place that job ad?"

* * *

The fire cackled in the barely used hearth in the study, casting a golden glow on the man in the small armchair beside it. Despite the late hour of the evening he was still clad in a razor sharp pressed tailor suit. A delicate porcelain teapot and a cup sat on a mahogany table next to the armchair. Steam calmly spiralled up from the cup. Sometimes the man reached out to take a sip and the curtain of his half-long hair would shift to reveal a long nose set in concentrated features and wide-set dark eyes. They moved quickly from left to right as the man read letter after letter, which he picked from the cardboard box on the ground, flanking his outstretched left leg.

On the floor lay two small piles on either which he put the letter once he'd finished reading it. Though he did read the letters intently, his interest clearly was drawn more toward the resumes, which he studied first before moving toward the letters.

Gold took a sip from his tea, brought up to him by an attentive Mrs. Potts before he took what seemed like the hundredth letter from the box and opened it. He suppressed a sigh.

Today he'd received a distinctly distressed phone call from Sydney Glass about the librarian vacancy and Gold had decided to pay the local journalist a visit to see what all the fuss was about.

He'd been confronted with two hundred printed application letters and the deadline was still two weeks away. Under different circumstances Gold might have secretly gloated at the shifty journalist's despair but at that moment the only thing that occupied his mind was that he had to diddle Glass out of the letters as quickly as possible.

It had taken exactly no effort at all.

Relief had dripped from the man's features when Storybrooke's pawnbroker had insisted on taking the emails with him to sort through them himself. The local journalist didn't dare to just hand him the box though and without Gold even asking for it, he had carried them to his Cadillac.

Now he'd spent hours reading through applications that, unsurprisingly, had been sent from all corners of the country. It did surprise him though how many people were actually willing to move from Idaho or North Carolina for this job. Gold had known that his plan would involve a great deal of application letters, but at the rate they were flooding in the amount of letters would be enormous by the time they reached the deadline. The realisation was a little discouraging.

Nonetheless, he was determined to follow through with his original plan – to select all the female applicants with even the slightest possibility of being Miss Australia and to select some men as well to avoid raising questions with Mrs. Nolan and Mr. Glass.

He looked at the resume in his hands – a man from Texas of about forty-five years old with a Mexican sounding name. Good qualifications as a librarian, background in construction work. This man would actually be a suitable candidate, considering the current state of the library, he established with a wry smile. Gold sighed and pinched his nose as he placed the letter on the rejection pile. He made sure that the few men he did select would not be able to compete with the women.

The sound of footsteps made him look up. Bae was standing in the doorway watching him with a bemused expression on his handsome features. Apparently, his boy was done with his homework, and judging by the confusion on his face he'd expected to find his father behind his spinning wheel in the basement. Instead, he was upstairs in his study with what looked like printed emails fanning around him.

"Papa, what are you doing?"

Gesturing with the most recent letter Gold had picked from the box he invited his son in, feeling glad that Mrs. Potts had put two teacups on the tray.

"Sit down, Bae. There's tea if you want some."

The boy lowered himself in the opposite chair and picked the letter from the top of the rejection pile.

"What's with the paper-mountains?" Bae asked casually as his father poured them both a cup.

"These are applications for the position of librarian," he told Bae and the boy's eyes widened.

"So many?"

In response Gold's eyes flitted from the piles to the box and he raised his eyebrows.

"Ah well, I brought it down on my own head, didn't I, when I had that ad placed in newspapers all over the country? When Storybrooke is all you see every day, you tend to forget how big this country actually is."

Bae's lips curled up in an amused smirk. "Well, we're hardly in Scotland anymore, Papa."

As a half-smile tugged on the corner of Gold's mouth Bae folded his hands around the delicate teacup as if it were a sturdy mug. "So, at school today I heard the reopening of the library was actually your idea."

He looked his father straight in the eye. "Will you tell me the truth if I asked you if you've found another way to find the woman on the phone?"

Gold stilled. His son was looking at him searchingly and a little disappointedly and suddenly he realised that he hadn't told him about his plan even though Bae had set it all in motion.

He leaned forward slightly. "Yes," he said and when Bae opened his mouth he emphasised, "to both questions Bae."

Bae's features relaxed visibly and his eyes, dark and expressive like his father's, trailed to the letter in his hand. "This whole plan to reopen the library…. She's a librarian, isn't she?"

"Yes."

Taking a sip from his tea Gold watched as Bae processed information that would bar this way to finding Miss Australia if it came to the attention of Mayor Mills and to his surprise a smile lit up the boy's face.

"I knew it. The moment you asked me to Google all those newspapers, I knew you must have come up with another plan to find her."

He leaned back in his chair, looking definitely smug. Unwittingly, Gold raised his eyebrows at his son's favourable reaction.

"I'm sorry I left you out of it. Please know that it wasn't on purpose. I think I'm not very used to sharing my plans. You're not angry with me?"

Bae frowned. "No, why should I? I'm the one who signed you up for this. I wanted you to meet someone, Papa and you obviously did. If the effort you put in finding me is anything to go by, I'm positive that you'll find her one way or another."

Bae's voice sounded nonchalant, his words casual but still his father stilled. This was the first time in all those months Bae had returned to him the boy had hinted that he wanted to talk about all that happened before he found him again.

"Bae…" he said softly and the boy's cheerful face fell. He ducked his head.

"I still don't understand why you let me go with him, Papa."

It was a quiet question, posed so tentatively that it barely broke the silence in the study, but the man on the other side of the small side table winced and a shadow passed over his features.

Gold looked down on the delicate teacup in his hands, white with blue flowers and a blue rim. It had come with the house and he'd taken a liking to the simple yet elegant design.

He swallowed back a lump.

"I thought that that's what you wanted," he finally replied honestly, defeat sounding through in his voice. It was the biggest mistake he'd made in his life and even though he'd Bae back with him he'd only look at his son and be reminded of the lost time.

He clenched his jaw as he cast a sideways look into the fire. "The night before Jones took you, he came by and told me you had said you wanted to go with him, like… like your mother. I felt responsible for her death and somehow, I still don't know why, I let him convince me. The next morning I woke you to prepare you to go with him."

Bae watched his father as the words stumbled from his mouth. It was a long time since he'd seen Gold so helpless, so overwhelmed by life as now. He could see that the pain in his eyes was genuine, the hunch of his shoulders underlying his guilt. His own gaze darkened. In the years he'd spent aboard the ship he'd come to know Kilian Jones as a smooth talking man, against whom the father who'd let him go had no defence. Bae had secretly resented Killian for it for as long as he'd been under his wing.

The father who'd reclaimed him had been a totally different person though. Dressed in a sharp suit and leaning on a smooth black cane with a golden handle, the man standing on deck demanding his son from Kilian had exuded such power that it had actually taken Baelfire about thirty seconds to recognise him. And when he'd taken off the round sunglasses that shaded his eyes his gaze had shone with such danger that Bae had almost hesitated to go with him. Only the brief shimmer of happiness in his father's eyes when he'd taken his hand, clad in black leather, had convinced him that behind the unforgiving exterior was still the father he'd been longing for all these years.

Baelfire stared into the fire. "You still beat yourself up for taking so long to find me, don't you? I can see it in the way you react when I say something that reminds you of Kilian and sometimes it feels like you're having difficulty to accept that I'm not eight years old anymore."

Gold bowed his head and it was enough confirmation for Bae. "Papa, I don't blame you for taking so long. I'm just glad that you found me. We can't turn back time, but we can go on like it didn't happen, can't we?"

The watery smile on his father's face was one of such heartbreaking joy that Bae's eyes filled with tears and he pulled the application letter from his father's hand to grab it.

For a long moment they sat like that, father and son, before Gold carefully took back the letter.

"So, do you think she's somewhere between all these letters?" Bae asked, his gaze wandering between the box and both piles.

"I hope so," he replied, "but it's a shot in the dark really. I probably won't find out until the interviews. Speaking of which…"

Gold put down his cup and watched as Bae put down the letter on the rejection pile after a quick read through.

"Next Saturday I'm planning on going to Portland to select a few new suits for the many, many interviews we're about to have."

He lifted his eyebrows and Bae grinned. "Not to mention you'd want to look your best when one of them turns out to be your flame."

Gold grimaced. "You make it sound like I'm some love struck teenager such as yourself. So, would you like to come with me? If you'd like we could go look for some new clothes for you too. You're outgrowing your clothes fast enough. Didn't we buy you that t-shirt three months ago?"

Bae nodded apologetically. "Yeah, too bad, I really liked this t-shirt. Next week it will fit August I guess. Can we go after football training?"

Gold agreed. Heavens forbid that his son would miss his training. Jim Frederick, the gym teacher and coach of the boys football team was already relying heavily on his son's skills to get the school team to the last sixteen.

"After football training, of course."

* * *

 The gentleman's clothing store on Commercial Street in Portland looked like a time capsule where whims of fashion had dispersed and only true style had remained. Gold had discovered this hidden gem years ago, a rare find in the remote state of Maine, and had become a regular customer. Every six months he paid a visit to Portland to make another addition to his extensive wardrobe of sharply cut suits, shirts and ties.

Baelfire stood a little uncomfortable to the side, while the shop owner greeted his father warmly. He let his eyes roam over the carefully displayed pocket squares, leather gloves, cuff links and socks in the showcase next to him. He even spotted a skull and bones belt in black and white needlepoint.

"And this is my son, Baelfire."

The teen started at the mention of his name, and the shop owner's eyes fell upon the boy.

"Your son," the shop owner repeated a bit surprised though he kept his lined features straight.

Bae nodded and shook the man's hand. "I've come to live with my father a little over six months ago."

"Well, you're most welcome young Master Gold. Perhaps in a few years time, we'll have the honor of your patronage as well!"

"I uh…." Bae stuttered helplessly.

"Sadly enough," interjected Gold pleasantly, "the youth of today have very different views from our generation on how to dress smartly. I'm afraid his first suit will be bought for his prom."

The shop owner nodded in agreement and turned toward Mr. Gold to explain the new summer collection to him. Grinning a silent "thank you" at his father, Bae wandered off, set on quietly exploring the shop as Gold studied woollen fabrics.

He was examining the display near the window when he suddenly caught sight of a pair of stunning blue eyes behind it. A woman on the street, seemingly window-shopping, or at least enjoying the tasteful display. Bae blinked when she suddenly met his own through the glass.

She was a lovely woman, a little taller than Bae himself and framed with lush auburn curls that cascaded around her face. Bae took her to be in her early thirties. A slow smile spread upon her features as she held his gaze for a moment and Bae felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards too. Then she gave him a slight acknowledgement and pulled her checkered coat more closely around her as she turned away. The next moment she was gone.

"What are you looking at, Bae?"

Bae shook his head when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing, Papa. Just someone in the street."

"All right." Gold gently steered him back into the shop. "Now let's hear your opinion on these suits here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry. This update is long overdue but my beta and I were so busy that we simply couldn't find the time to finish this chapter. Now we have and I hope you'll like it! As always much love goes to my beta Delintthedarkone for her marvelous suggestions.


	6. Recruiting For A Supervising Librarian

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 6: Recruiting For A Supervising Librarian**

* * *

 

"… And then he heard it: a high-pitched voice chanting and giggling."

The group of children hung on Belle's every word as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. Collectively, the children's eyes widened.

"The servant carefully, stealthily crept closer to where the chanting came from, and when the moon peeked just a little from behind the midnight clouds, a beam of moonlight fell upon a small house in the clearing. It was the oddest little house the servant had ever laid eyes on. The sacking walls looked as if they'd grown from the ground and a lantern was dangling from the pointed, moss-covered roof. But the most peculiar about it was the enormous tree resting on top of the roof while four roots broad as a man's arm rested against the four corners of the quaint construction. A weak light shone from the window between the ancient roots and the servant took a deep breath before quietly crossing the last few yards between him and the front door."

Belle paused a moment to let her eyes wander over her young audience that listened with bated breaths. Some had stuck their thumb in their mouths as they listened. She smiled.

"Then he peeked through the tiny window and his eyes widened. It was the imp! And he was chanting as he jumped about his house that was strewn with straw and gold thread lying about. And as he danced around before the small fireplace he sung, 'Nobody, nobody knows my name, I'm called Rumplestiltskin!'"

Belle clapped her hands before her mouth as she looked at the children with wide eyes.

"Rumplestiltskin!" Eventually she picked up the story on an excited tone. "That was what the imp was called. And now the servant could return to the castle and tell the queen!"

Half an hour later storytelling time was over and Belle put away the small chairs and returned the book of fairy tales to its place of honour in the children's section. She waved a goodbye at several of the children who left the library with all kinds of books clenched in their little hands.

It was Friday, the day Belle had reading room duty. The whole day she made herself available to answer questions, or take over the children's reading hour if a volunteer had to drop out, like today.

It had been a busy day, like all Fridays. As a non-offensive female computer generated voice gently sounded through the reading room, informing the library visitors of impending closing time, Belle finished her last round of the day. Her eyes wandered across the rows of books establishing if they were placed in the right order and – in case of the children's section – not jammed in between other books in a way that was potentially harmful. Here and there she rearranged a single book, but the volunteers did their job devotedly and the librarian on reading room duty had an easy job supervising.

Today Belle felt grateful for it as her mind continuously wandered off throughout the day, so much so that her colleagues – not to mention Ary – had began to notice. It had been eight weeks now since her second telephone encounter with Mr. Scotsman, and he still hadn't come around.

After the fourth week her anxiousness began to build, which turned to dejectedness by the end of the fifth week. In her heart she knew that Baelfire, Mr. Scotsman's teenage son, had not been in time to extend his father' subscription.

By now even Ary couldn't talk hope back into her friend, as she too believed that he'd disappeared from the Wynken, Blynken & Nod Wake-Up Service.

The archivist hadn't easily given up though.

"Perhaps he has signed up again, Bells. And you could find him again if you wait long enough."

Belle had only shaken her head. "It could take more than a year if I'm not directly selected for his rotation list, Ary. And personally, I doubt that he would sign up again. He didn't really seem the kind of man to do that especially since it was his son who signed him up for it in the first place. It's actually far more likely that he only found me an amusing pastime and I don't think he'll be signing up again on the odd chance that we'll speak again. He said himself that the wake-up service wasn't really to his liking."

Her voice had softened when she added, "I don't think I can carry on calling for much longer, Ary. Every morning I hope it's him but it never is. No, I must forget about him."

Before, she'd flattered herself with the thought that he'd only stayed on the service at the prospect of speaking with her again, but now realised she might have been reading far more into their conversations than perhaps appropriate. Because what person in their right mind would allow herself to get carried away like this? Did it really take just two phone calls of a complete stranger for her stomach to flutter every time she thought of his voice, his eloquence, him? No, she needed to acknowledge that she had been romanticising the situation and put a stop to it before she lost her mind.

Belle shook her head to clear away unwanted thoughts, and headed for the reading table, knowing that _that_ always needed extra tidying up. Indeed the table was strewn with sections that would take a while folding up again. Why patrons consistently left them in this state was beyond her, as it posed the library workers with a lot of extra work. At least it would provide her with some rather welcome distraction.

Sighing inwardly she picked up the first front page within reach. The Portland Press Herald from two weeks ago. She'd already seen this front page a dozen times and though the library received new newspapers daily, the older issues were often still read, mostly by the unemployed.

The newspaper in her hands would be removed tomorrow. Walking around the table she began the search for the sections that belonged with it, quickly finding home news, international news and the economy section.

Carefully she opened the broadsheet pages to place the sections in the right order but when she opened the front page another section unexpectedly tumbled down on the ground.

"Oh!" Slipped from Belle's lips and she bent down to pick it up.

She froze when she felt a soft clip on her bottom.

"Belle! I know you like to flaunt but it's unbecoming to strike such a pose in a public library, baby."

"Gaston!"

Belle shot up and swivelled around.

"Step back," she hissed, her eyes spitting fire while she pointed the quire at him as if it were a knife.

The teasing grin on the hulk's face diminished and he actually took a step away from the small fury in front of him. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Belle, baby," he began but an inexplicable rage had gotten into the always so gentle librarian.

She took a step forward and looked up at him with pure loathing, as liberating anger roared through her, giving a way out to the sadness and disappointment she felt over having lost Mr. Scotsman. The quiet, wise Mr. Scotsman who so lovingly told about his son and appreciated her thirst for knowledge.

"I told you to stop calling me baby, Gaston," she said on a low, threatening voice that dripped with menace, "and if you ever, ever dare tae touch me again _I swear_ I will report you tae management."

Something resembling fear now appeared in his eyes until he realised that the woman he envisioned as his housewife was bossing him around. Belle flinched when his hand shot out and he grabbed the paper in a death grip, making it perfectly clear that it only posed as a substitute for her wrist.

"You keep up fighting me Belle, but one day you'll be mine," he growled and Belle had to force back the bile coming up over the suggestion.

"You can lie to yourself as much as you want Gaston, but you're a beast and you're mistaken if you'll think I'll change my mind on that. Not now, not ever."

Gaston bared his teeth at her but it was of no concern to Belle. Her delicate features were contorted in a furious scowl as she wrenched the quire away and pointed with it at the camera behind the man.

"Perhaps you should ask your dear friend LeFou to erase the security tape, or the Head of Security might get into trouble if one of the other guards were to see you harassing the librarian," she said coldly, her expression full of contempt.

Gaston froze, then a look of disbelief passed over his coarse features and he understood that he'd lost. Then he took one, two steps backwards, turned around and stomped off, no doubt heading for the control room.

Belle watched him go, her fierce expression suddenly fading. Then she turned and pressed her hand to her mouth, as a lump formed her throat and her eyes filled with tears.

But before she could give in to her misery the sound of applause tore apart the silence.

"That was marvellous entertainment, Bells. You finally took him down a peg or two. Loved the Scottish accent as you did so, too, by the way. Well done, girl."

"Ary," Belle sighed and suddenly she was trembling all over. She lowered the quire and to her relief the lump in her throat started to dissipate. "Well, at least he's gone now."

"For now," Ary said as she cast a dark look over her shoulder, "but I doubt this is the last you've heard of him. At least now he knows you'll stand up for yourself…"

Belle nodded silently, having lost her voice all of a sudden. She had barely been aware of what she'd been saying as the words tumbled from her lips. The only thing she'd been aware of had been the canalisation of her building frustration into this outburst.

Now all what was left was this strange but salutary numbness. Belle felt as if she could fall down on the sofa in the children's section and sleep for the entire weekend.

Wearily she lifted a hand to her forehead and Ary's scrutinizing gaze modified to a sympathetic smile.

Belle returned a watery one. "God, Ary. He's such a jerk."

"I know." The archivist nodded sympathetically. "So, are you almost done here? We have girl's night ahead of us."

Inconspicuously Belle dashed away a stray tear and looked at the quire in her hand. "I'll have to finish up with these newspapers first."

"Then I'll help you," Ary said decisively, pretending she hadn't seen that and immediately grabbed The New York Times. "People really make a mess of these."

Belle chuckled at her friend's discontented features. "That's what I always think, too."

She tugged a loose curl behind her ear and finally began to smooth out the crumbled up quire she'd been holding all this time. Someone had obviously been interested in the vacancy section because the pages were folded inside out and she started to rearrange the poor, battered quire when her eye caught a familiar name.

Narrowing her eyes she leaned forward.

' _The Town of Storybrooke, ME is recruiting for a Supervising Librarian to be responsible for overseeing and evaluating the operations and volunteer staff of the local library, and assisting in the planning and implementation of library services in Storybrooke, including monitoring challenging restructuring of accommodation and supply, in alignment with organizational vision, mission, values, and goals. Requires a Master's Degree in Library Science from an American Library Association (ALA) accredited library school and 5-7 years' experience as a professional librarian. Relevant experience in a supervisory capacity or an equivalent combination of education and experience has the preference. Housing provided in apartment over the library.'_

An anticipated hiring range and general postal and email addresses of the Mayor's office concluded the job description. The deadline was set for today at midnight.

"Ary?"

The redhead looked up from the sixth newspaper she was rearranging to notice that Belle was still hovering over her first, looking at it with a thoughtful frown.

"Isn't the town where Eric comes from called Storybrooke?"

It took the archivist only a few seconds to appear next to her friend. "Yes, why?"

"They're hiring for a new librarian."

Belle showed her friend the job description as a giddy feeling of anticipation and excitement nestled in her stomach.

To her surprise, Ary let out an amused huff when she'd finished reading the job ad. "So, they're finally reopening the library?"

"Reopening?"

"Oh yes." Ary rolled her eyes. "The place is a dump. The building is boarded up and according to Eric it has been like that since before he was even born. Even the clock in the bell tower is broken."

"The library has a bell tower?"

Belle's eyes began to glisten and Ary cast her a searching look. "Did you even hear what I just said? There is no library. There's only a dilapidated building everyone still calls the library but I believe only the Widow Lucas and Mrs. Potts have memories of having seen it on the inside."

Belle thought of what she'd told Mr. Scotsman. About how she longed to take up a new challenge, even if was only in the next town. If she was never going to speak with him again then at least she could do what he'd been so encouraging about.

"So, it's a real challenge then?"

"Or a mistake," Ary retorted and Belle puckered her lips in a playful pout.

"Won't it be fun if I come live in the same town as you and Eric?"

The archivist inclined her head.

"Providing that town would be Storybrooke," she commented. "For a career woman you're not terribly emancipated, Bells."

Belle grinned. "You love the place Ariel. We both know you'd be moving there even if Eric hadn't already proposed to you."

Reluctantly but with a twinkle in her eye Ary nodded. "And I can still keep my job in Portland. I just need a good car."

Belle's gaze shifted back to the job description. Ary's response had reminded her of her father. How would he respond if she were to move to another town, however close by it still might be?

"Perhaps I could get my Dad to come over eventually too," she mused tentatively. "It's not that far from Portland…"

Ary squeezed her arm before casting another look at the ad as Belle finally pulled her phone from her pocket and called up the camera.

"It's still a dump," she commented but Belle could sense that she started to warm up to the idea.

Absent-mindedly Ariel rearranged The Boston Globe as Belle took a few pictures of the job description, when her eye caught a familiar word in the vacancy section.

Frowning, Ariel cast a look at the date, saw that it happened to be the same on the Portland Press Herald and turned to the bookcase. Randomly she picked a few titles from the shelf, carefully selecting the issues sharing the same publication date.

"Bells?"

Belle put away her phone and looked up to see that her friend had created a new fan of newspapers on the reading table. She let out a groan.

"Ary, why did you do that? We were almost done!"

Her friend ignored her complaint though and simply asked, "Is this newspaper from Kentucky the one farthest away from Portland you have?"

Belle noticed the peculiar expression on her features and rounded the table. "I believe so, yes. But why…"

She fell silent when her eye caught the vacancy sections in all the newspapers Ary had opened.

Literally ten newspapers Ary had opened and all of them contained the job ad she'd just photographed in the Portland Press Herald.

"That little town is quite desperate in their search for a new librarian."

Ary quirked up her eyebrows as she showed Belle the Kentucky newspaper.

"If my gut feeling is anything to go by this ad has shown up in newspapers all across the country from Alaska to Florida."

Belle looked down on the vacancy sections with mixed feelings. It was strange that a small town in Maine would go nationwide with their search for a new librarian and somehow it both excited her as did it sag her spirits. She wanted to know what was behind this move and at the same time she feared that the response would be overwhelming. Perhaps they'd even brought forward the deadline and she would already be too late to respond.

She took a deep breath and began to close the newspapers.

"I'm sorry, but it looks like I have to skip girl's night this time, Ary. I have some writing to do."

* * *

 The hands of the seventies clock in Belle's bedroom were creeping dangerously toward the midnight hour when the librarian tiredly pushed the send button. The email carrying her letter of application and resume disappeared, beginning the split second journey to the mayoral email box in Storybrooke. She stared at the now empty screen of her laptop.

It was done. She had done the brave thing and had applied for the post of librarian of a library Ary had described as a dump.

Now there was nothing she could do but wait.

* * *

 Moe French was not an old man, but he was weary. It showed from the lines on his face and the way he moved himself from his home to his flower stall and back again, his worn Baseball cap ever present on his head, he went through life guided by the one person he loved most and understood least – his daughter Belle.

Moe understood that the past couple of years he'd somehow he'd deluded himself to think that she would always stay with him in Portland, that the status quo they'd settled in after she'd come back home from university and had found a job at the Portland Public Library would last forever.

But he'd always known those years had only been borrowed time and now his daughter was ready to go on with her own life.

Moe sighed as he let his baseball cap turn round and round between his stained fingers, black and green from earth and flower stems. The stains never really left.

"It's only Storybrooke, Dad, not the end of the world," Belle told him as she carefully brought in one of the buckets full of flowers for the night. The added weight always seemed too much for the overloaded old stall, and she was waiting for the day that it would finally collapse.

"And besides, I only sent a letter of application. I might not even be invited for an interview."

"I know, I only thought that…" Moe hesitated and decided that it was best not to finish this sentence.

But Belle of course understood what he tried to swallow down. She put her hand on his arm and looked at him with a serious look in her brilliant blue eyes.

"Dad," she began and despite her soft tone of voice Moe flinched. "You have to let me do this. I need to get on with my life."

Encouragingly she squeezed his hands and a pained smile appeared on her lips. "You could join me there, you know. Buy a real flower shop. We both know you've saved up enough money by now."

And they also knew that the only reason why he had never actually came to buy a real flower shop was because he didn't want to leave his stall across from the library where Belle worked.

"And," she put both her hands on his shoulders, her high heels making it possible for her to come at eye level with her father. "You could visit Mum as much as you like; it's only a one hour drive to Portland."

The lost look in his dull, watery eyes broke her heart but eventually he nodded bravely.

"You're right, Belle."

A sad smile appeared on Belle's lips. She knew this was difficult for him, imagining another possibility of happiness after all these years of clinging to Portland where they'd laid her mother to her rest. And perhaps she would never even get an invitation in the first place or she would get rejected and everything would stay as they were. Then he wouldn't have to worry about anything. But if she did get accepted… Then maybe, just maybe she was right and this could be a new beginning for the both of them.

Moe took off his cap and fumbled with it in his hands. He preferred to talk about flowers instead of feelings and Belle saw that he was looking for a way out of this conversation.

She stepped back and his eyes flitted gratefully toward the cold stove.

"So, erm…" He cleared his throat. "What are we making for supper tonight?"

Belle followed his gaze. "I don't know… How about… hamburgers?"

* * *

 With careless elegancy the old bus swung into the lay-by on Portland's broad Commercial Street. A hissing sound accompanied the opening of the folding door and a petite woman with auburn curls and a conspicuous checkered coat stepped from the footboard unto the pavement.

Belle shot a smile at the bus driver before she began to walk down the street. A few stray snowflakes whirled from the dark sky, and she huddled into her broad collar as her high-heeled feet carefully picked their way to Ary's apartment perched atop a men's fashion shop. A gleaming black car was parked in front of it. As a little girl in the library Belle had studied enough car magazines to recognise the 1990-1992 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham d'Elégance black on red interior. It probably belonged to a customer.

Belle's eyes wandered to the window display where the elegant outfits welcomed springtime with their light colours and light fabrics while delicate cherry tree branches flanked the mannequins. Her heart lifted a bit at the optimistic display while snowflakes still whirled around pedestrians' heads when the feeling crept up on her that she was being watched.

The librarian looked up and her eyes locked with those of a boy standing in on the other side of the window. He was about fourteen years old, with gleaming dark curls and he was staring at her with mild curiosity.

Behind the boy two men were talking. One she recognised as the shop owner, the other one was a smaller, sharply dressed man with flowing, half-long hair. He had pronounced features and his hands were resting loosely on the handle of a cane. As he was turned away from her he didn't see her but the boy that obviously belonged with the man was studying her, probably wondering why a young woman would stop to pay this shop any attention.

Belle's lips curled up and to her surprise he answered her smile. Behind him the man with the cane turned his head. She caught the man's watchful gaze and stepped back from the window, deciding it was time to get inside Ary's warm, cosy apartment. With a nod at the boy she turned away.

A few moments later the door to Ary's apartment softly closed behind her.

* * *

 'Welcome to Storybrooke,' read the elegant white sign that flashed by the car on the deserted dual carriageway. For the past hour she had been staring out the window and taking in the pine trees passing her by at 40 mph with a bemused expression on her face, lost in thought. She glanced up when the sign popped into her view and Ary cast her a look from the corner of her eye before focusing on the quiet road again.

"It's alive!" Her light voice broke through the radio jingling softly in the background. "My God, Belle, you were miles away. A penny for your thoughts?"

Belle turned her head as she realised that she hadn't said anything in an hour. Her thoughts had drifted away as soon as they'd left Portland. It had been Ary's idea to have Belle come along this clear Saturday on her visit to Eric. That way she could have a look at the library before her upcoming interview this Tuesday. And perhaps rethink her decision, was Ary's silent message when she suggested it.

But Belle had taken to the idea with enthusiasm, and when the pine trees began to fringe the road she imagined taking Sunday walks through the outstretched woods that bordered the small harbour town of Storybrooke. Eventually her thoughts would wander off though imagining on her stroll through the woods the vague silhouette of a man walking beside her, while talking to her with a comforting Scottish brogue. As always a sting of regret shot through her stomach as the thought of Mr. Scotsman entered her mind, regret that she'd never come to know who was behind the voice and she never would. Her stubborn heart had difficulty accepting that though and while it made Mr. Scotsman's voice stay in the back of her mind, her imagination conjured up the vague outline of a man in his late forties who somehow always seemed to carry a cane with him. Though she couldn't remember it, Belle suspected that she subconsciously must have heard the tap of a cane at some point.

It had been more than two months at this point and the hope of ever getting back in touch with him had virtually disappeared. Every morning she duly called in for the wake-up service but her heart wasn't in it anymore. She hadn't told Ary but she'd actually tried to contact the WBandN Wake-Up Service organisation to try and convince someone, anyone to check the database and tell her at least Mr. Scotman's name. To her surprise she'd been connected through to one of the founders of the website, no doubt because she was a loyal participant. The young man had listened to her story kindly but in the end it had made no difference to his decision, though he had been lenient at one point and told her that the trial period of the person she was presumably looking for had expired, thus confirming what she already suspected.

When the job vacancy in Storybrooke came up it had thankfully distracted her from the dull ache in her heart. But times like this when her thoughts had quieted and she was merely watching her surroundings that the memory of his voice became clearer, reminding her of yet another person she'd come to love and would never hear again.

"Have you ever been to Storybrooke before?" Ary asked without taking her eyes off the road so she couldn't see Belle shaking her head.

"Hmm?" Said Ariel and Belle responded aloud, "No. My Dad never wanted to leave Portland after Mum died."

For a moment Ary let her words sink in. Storybrooke was a popular seaside resort among Portlanders. That Belle had never been there before didn't surprise her though. She knew about Belle's loyalty toward her father.

"So, it's safe to say you've never seen the boarded up building on Main Street," she commented. "Well, that explains a few things."

Belle shrugged.

"Something is telling me that you'll show it to me today, anyway," she joked and Ary smiled.

"You bet I will. But first, let me take you to the cannery. I'm dying for you to meet Eric in his natural habitat."

The cannery was everything a cannery should be like. The long, bare docks, the buildings made of corrugated iron, the briny breeze from the sea combined with the smell of fish. Eric had been helping the fishermen with gutting the fresh fish they'd caught when they'd arrived, all high heels and city girl awkwardness. But he took care not to hug Ary with his apron still covering his cable sweater though his dazzling smile told Belle how much he'd missed the archivist.

From a little distance an older man watched the exchange of loving looks before he playfully lifted his eyebrows at her. Belle suspected that was Eric's uncle Grimsby.

"They're a lovely couple aren't they, Miss…"

"French," Belle supplied friendly. "Belle French. Yes, they certainly look wonderful together."

Grimsby looked up, his old eyes attentive beside his Greek nose.

"You have a lovely accent, my dear child. Australian, if I'm not mistaken?" He informed graciously, lifting his eyebrows as he looked at her from the corner of his eye. Eric's uncle was a gentleman of the old stamp.

"It is," Belle confirmed with a smile as she pulled her warm swing coat more closely around her at a particular nasty gust of wind scudded across the quay. Her eyes thoughtlessly followed an imposing black car as it turned into the quay and slowly proceeded toward the office entrance and came to a gliding halt.

'A Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham d'Elégance,' Belle's quick mind immediately registered. That was a coincidence. Wasn't it the same type of car she'd seen outside the man's fashion shop in Portland?

Her eyes narrowed but her attention was drawn away when Mr. Grimsby lightly touched her arm and said, "Excuse me for a moment, my child. I have some business to attend to."

Belle watched him approach the Cadillac with a certain wariness as the driver's door opened and a man emerged from the car. He was dressed formally in what looked like a suit underneath his black wool coat, sharp like his car. The wind played through his half-long brown hair as he meticulously closed the door then straightened himself and turned towards Grimsby. He furrowed his eyebrows a little against the sharp daylight and immediately she knew that he didn’t come outside much.

His frame was slight and he seemed small next to the limousine but there was something about the observant expression on his pronounced, regular features, framed by those strangely unconventional locks, that immediately drew her in. She also noticed the black cane that supported his stance, gloved hands resting easily on the gold handle. A light shock went through Belle as she recognised the man from the shop. So, it had been his car after all.

"Who is that?" She found herself asking and Ary replied on a subdued tone, "That's Mr. Gold, Mr. Grimsby's landlord. He owns about the whole town."

In the mean time Grimsby had reached the man by the car and handed him what seemed like a bankroll. The man cast a sharp glance at the people near the shore before accepting the wad of banknotes.

Belle gave a confused shake of her head as she furrowed her delicately arched eyebrows. "But I thought your uncle owned the cannery, Eric?"

Eric nodded without taking his eyes off his uncle and Mr. Gold. "That he does. But the buildings, the docks, etcetera – Mr. Gold owns it all. Even the nuns pay rent for the convent."

Belle's lips opened but no sound escaped as her eyes travelled across Mr Gold's posture while he concluded business with Mr Grimsby, barely registering the disapproving tone in Eric's voice. She could see that he inspired awe and a little fear in others but that wasn't what drew her toward him with a feeling not unlike what she'd felt when talking to Mr. Scotsman. It was the barely imperceptible softening of his expression as he spoke to Mr. Grimsby and allowed Max, Eric's sheepdog, to enthusiastically jump around his legs before Eric called him off with a sharp whistle.

"He always does that when Mr. Gold comes to collect the rent. I just don't get it," Eric grumbled morosely as the dog rushed back.

"He likes him. He feels that Mr. Gold loves dogs."

The words had left Belle's mouth before she knew it as she kept her gaze fixed on the man they called Mr. Gold. Beside her Eric exchanged a dubious look with Ary who shrugged and mouthed 'it's Belle'.

Eric scratched the back of his head. "You can see that?"

Clearly he'd never looked at things that way.

Belle nodded thoughtfully. "Mr. Gold appreciates Mr. Grimsby as well. And he likes to be here. He purposely inhaled the sea breeze when he got out of the car and he took a moment to overlook the sea."

Eric raised his eyebrows in astonishment but Ary was stunned too. "So, is this the moment when you're going to tell me that you're not a librarian but a secret agent or something? Do you work for the FBI?"

"Secret agents are normally with the CIA, if I'm correct," Belle replied amusedly. "And I've never seen Mr. Gold before in my life," she toned down the surprised shock of recognition from before. "I just tell you what I noticed. Mr. Gold's not really hard to read."

At this Eric huffed good-naturedly. "Not hard to read? The man is notoriously elusive. Nobody really knows who he is."

Ary sniffed. "You've clearly chosen the wrong profession, Bells."

Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head, as Grimsby slowly headed back to them. The man called Mr. Gold turned and opened the door of his car, ready to leave when he lifted his head and cast a last look at the group of people who'd been watching his exchange with Eric's uncle all this time.

For a moment his searching gaze rested on Belle before Mr. Gold nodded graciously and stepped into the car with a surprisingly supple movement considering his predicament.

And it wasn't until Belle had turned her back on the car disappearing around the corner that she realised that Mr. Gold's gaze crossing hers had caused a shiver to run down her spine.

* * *

 When Ary had described the Storybrooke library as a dump, she'd spoken the truth. Even the few pictures of the building Belle had found on the Internet had flattered the situation Belle now realised as she stood on the sidewalk and let her gaze wander over the boarded up building. One time it must have been beautiful, a historic landmark in the corner of the street, laced with several slender, wooden pillars, which made the sidewalk look like a veranda.

She had left Ary and Eric to their own devices for a few hours, knowing that they appreciated the space she gave them and went straight for the sagging building that the townspeople called the library.

The double doors in the corner were covered with old newspapers to prevent curious gazes from being thrown inside and the grimy paint, which once must have been a cheerful cream colour, was flaking from the walls. It dragged down this entire corner of Storybrooke's Main Street and people seemed to have learned to ignore the building wasting away. But despite finding Ary's warnings to be true, Belle was merely strengthened in her resolve when she spotted the magnificent bell tower. Chewing her lip she flitted to and fro looking at the building from all corners.

She peeked through cracks in the boards and she was almost sure that through the grimy window she could see the words 'circulation desk' in the dusk. A swell of excitement shot through her when she thought of what the library would look like when it was restored to its former brilliance. She could already see the brightly coloured children's section, the corner with magazines where old ladies would gather to talk – perhaps the diner she'd spotted, Granny's Belle thought it was called, was interested in opening a coffee corner in the library. And if she could persuade her father to move to Storybrooke and buy the flower shop he'd dreamt of having for so long, she would have a daily supply of fresh flowers to put in front of the gleamingly washed, paned windows. Two small box trees flanking the front door finished the perfect picture she painted in her head.

A smile played on her lips as she turned, only to get a start when Ary suddenly pulled up before her in her car and stuck her head out the window.

"Hey Belle, have you seen enough? We have to go, I'm afraid."

Belle nodded and opened the door.

"That hamburger at Granny's will have to wait then," she replied regretfully as she got in the front seat of the car.

"Don't worry, we'll be back," Ary said as the car pulled out into the street and Belle cast a sideways glance at the row of old-fashioned shops disappearing behind Ary's window, which she hadn't cared to look at as she'd been much too occupied with studying the library. Now she let her gaze pass across a stationary shop, a modest women's fashion store and – strangely enough – a clock store. Right across from the library, next to an ice cream parlour, was an inconspicuous, low building painted in bluish green with exception for the deep red door, which was flanked by two broad, paned windows. Gold Venetian blinds behind the windows prevented a clear view on what was inside. Parked on the street in front of the store was a gleaming black Cadillac.

Belle's heart skipped a beat. It was the third time she'd seen that car in a short time.

Turning slightly in her chair Belle scanned the building as Ary spurted away in her spirited Kia. Then she noticed the yellowed neon sign above the lean-to and the name in faded black serif.

There was something else underneath it but the sign had already disappeared from Belle's sight before she could read what it said.

She sunk back in her chair and shrugged it off as Ariel searched for a suitable radio station to accompany them on the way back to Portland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments on the story! They're much appreciated.
> 
> As always, I would like to thank my beta Delintthedarkone for her marvelous work and dedication.
> 
> Thanks again for reading and until next time!


	7. Mr. Rock & Roll

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 7: Mr. Rock & Roll**

* * *

 The modest Kia pulled away from the kerb and drove off into the dusk of the dull Saturday afternoon, followed by a pair of intense dark eyes behind the door of _Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer_.

The middle-aged man remained motionless as he pondered over what he'd just seen. His gaze had caught the woman flitting to and fro before the library by chance when he'd gone to flip the closed sign on the door. Lingering, he'd watched her from the dusk of his shop as she tried to peek through cracks in the boards.

Gold recognised her almost instantly as the young woman he'd seen earlier at the cannery. She'd been watching his exchange with old Mr. Grimsby together with Eric Grimsby and another young woman with red hair.

He'd come for the rent. Usually he only met with Grimsby or his nephew, but this time he'd noticed the women flanking the man's nephew. The redhead was hanging off Eric Grimsby's arm and was giving Gold familiar looks of contempt, so he surmised she was Eric Grimsby's fiancée. The other woman with lovely auburn curls had worn an odd expression that he couldn't pinpoint but didn't come across as the usual trepidation or loathing.

She seemed to be studying him with something close to curiosity, and he felt his habitual walls snap up while he attempted to conclude his business with Mr Grimsby and fend off Eric's enthusiastic dog.

Why she seemed interested in him was beyond him, but it felt like she was analysing him and it made him wary of her.

She had looked a bit caught when he'd returned her stare but she hadn't averted her gaze until he'd cast a last look in the rear-view mirror. It had all been very strange.

Then she'd shown up at the library, without Grimsby _or_ the redhead and the realisation that she could be one of the librarians he'd selected for an interview had partly put his wariness of her at rest.

Apparently, she was a friend of Eric Grimsby's fiancée and had decided to check out the library beforehand, which earned her several points in his book.

Safely nestled in the shadows of the pawnshop, Gold studied her more closely. She was petite, with a delicate silhouette and with a sure footing despite the ridiculously high heels she was wearing. She radiated warmth and at the same time there was intangible about her, which came, he supposed, with being the avid reader she no doubt was. It definitely defied his defences against her. It felt as if she challenged him to open the door of the shop and draw her attention.

He remained motionless though as he watched her from the shadows of his shop, the closed-sign frozen between his fingers, halfway between 'open' and 'closed', looking on as a car pulled up beside her.

All this time that he'd seen her walking up and down the pavement she'd not once cast a look across the street, completely absorbed by her apparent excitement about the dilapidated library building. And he wondered how long it would take this observant woman – librarian – to take a look around her and notice the pawnshop on the other side of the street.

But instead of looking around her, she opened the car door and got in, keeping her head bowed as she spoke to her friend.

Inexplicable tinges of regret shot through him but when the car pulled up he clearly saw her turn her head and look, really look at the other side of the street.

And Gold was sure he hadn't imagined seeing her eyes widen before the car disappeared around the corner.

* * *

 With an inward sigh Gold switched on the lamp beside him, then bowed forward to pick a new letter from the box in front of him. It was still discouragingly filled to the brim despite the fact that he'd already read some 125 letters from it. He had no idea how long it would take him to work through that entire box, but his optimistic estimate from a few hours ago now seemed ludicrous edging on stupidity.

To filter out the applicants that fit into the Miss Australia category seemed an easy enough objective until he discovered that a considerable amount of the applicants actually was a female in her thirties.

Without much enthusiasm he turned around the letter in his hands. This one was an email, sent only a few minutes before 12 P.M. on the closing date. His eyebrows lifted. An adventurous type, this one, he established skeptically as he sifted through the resume. This applicant was female again and judging from her graduation date she too was about thirty years old. Her address placed her in Portland, which made her the only applicant up until now from the State of Maine and fairly close by. It caused a little spark of interest in a sea of letters that had dulled his senses a long time ago.

Wearily, he studied the rest of the resume. It started with a southern sounding name, Belle French, which seemed quite odd given her Maine residency. She'd attended a good university in Vermont – one of the original Public Ivies if he wasn't mistaken – and had absolutely no background in construction work.

She fell in the Miss Australia category though, so she would be invited for an interview anyway. Gold cast a sideways look at the many letters in the box still waiting to be read.

He was tempted to change his approach and skip the application letters starting with this one but when his gaze brushed the admittedly fine letter his eye caught a sentence that actually piqued his interest.

" _I would like to take up the challenge to create something new with the Storybrooke library."_

It was an inconspicuous sentence that he almost overlooked, but in this letter it gave him pause.

This person knew the library and the state it was in, he realised. Perhaps she'd been to Storybrooke before, which wouldn't surprise him, as it was so close to Portland. The town of Storybrooke was known to attract some tourists over the summer. At least this meant this applicant had made a conscious choice to apply for the job. His eyes lingered on the words 'to create something new'. Those were the exact words Miss Australia had used in their last conversation.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

The small spark of interest disappeared as Gold looked up at his son, leaning against the doorpost. He sent him a grimace.

"You're very funny, Bae. Would you like some tea?"

The boy immediately took the invitation and sat down next to his father. "How are you faring?"

Now Gold's chest heaved in a visible sigh. "It's progressing very slowly, I'm afraid. I think I underestimated how much work goes into this."

His boy smirked. "Perhaps you shouldn't have placed the add in that Alabama newspaper. How many applicants you said you've received from that state?"

"Twenty-two," Gold responded with a higher voice that showed a slight tinge of despair. "Are they going to close down all of the libraries over there?"

Bae gave a good-natured shrug. "Maybe librarians from Alabama are of the adventurous type."

Then he leaned forward.

"I could help, you know – with the letters. Just tell me what I'm looking for and you don't have to do this all on your own."

Gold let the meaning of the words sink in. It was hard to imagine that he actually wasn't doing things on his own, as he'd always done so before. Even when it came to raising Bae. But, like the boy had said before, he wasn't eight years old anymore. He could handle some responsibility now.

Still he was a little surprised by his son's generous offer.

"Shouldn't you be defeating August at some PlayStation game, tonight?"

Bae shook his head. "The game can wait."

His father's eyebrow lifted. "And what about homework?"

"Done." Bae gulped down his tea the way Gold had told him a hundred times already not to do. "And it's still too early to send me to bed."

This elicited a short laugh from his father.

"I suppose we're in this together," Gold slowly acknowledged and Bae nodded.

"Exactly."

He extended his hand to the letter between his father's fingers. "May I read that one?"

"Of course." Immediately Gold handed him Belle French's letter.

The boy buried himself in the letter and for a few moments in which his father poured him a new cup of tea and took another letter from the box he read the only application thus far from Maine with a concentrated frown on his delicate features.

"This is a good letter," he said finally, looking up at his father who had just added his letter to the rejection pile. "She seems to know about the current state of the library."

"I thought so too," Gold replied neutrally.

"And she seems nice. Are you going to invite her?" Bae cast a glance at the resume and Gold saw the interest on his son's face.

"Yes, she fits in the category."

"Good." Bae was satisfied. "Perhaps you should interview her first?"

Gold allowed himself an indulgent smile. His boy seemed to take a liking to this Belle French. "I'll make sure I'll schedule her for the first week."

Bae nodded thoughtfully. "Her name sounds very southern, though," he remarked as he carefully put the letter on the pile to invite. "Strange to think that she's from Maine."

"You're adapting to this country pretty quickly," Gold remarked in amusement. "Should I be worrying about you starting to forget what football is?"

"Never!" Bae stated adamantly and after a shared smile of understanding, silence descended between them as they bowed over the many, many letters of application for the position of librarian of the Storybrooke library.

His father lifted his eyebrow as he shoved him another letter. "Well, since you have nothing else to do, I'm gladly accepting your help."

A smile broke over Bae's features. "That's what I came in for."

* * *

 "Mr Gold. Was something not right with the rent?"

Gold wrinkled his nose at the over used question but said nothing about it as Old Mr. Grimsby put down the knife and fish he was about to fillet. The weathered fisherman looked a bit worried and Gold smiled smoothly as he cast a look over the docks. Inconspicuously he took in a deep breath of the salty sea air.

"On the contrary, Mr. Grimsby. You seem to be one of the very few tenants who can actually count."

The older man lifted one eyebrow at Gold, before he allowed himself a strained smile.

"Then to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? Is there anything you'd like? Tea perhaps?"

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you," Gold replied on a light tone, shaking his head. The thought of tea mixed with essence of fish didn't entirely appeal to him. "I'm here to buy a few fresh dabs. I'm of the opinion that the town's fishmonger carries a very limited selection."

After a moment of surprise at the astonishingly ordinary request, Grimsby's wary smile broadened to a confident grin. For years he'd tried to persuade that man who dared to call himself a fishmonger to sell more than the customary range of fish but to no avail. That Mr. Gold of all people had to come by and touch upon this small frustration of Grimsby's actually warmed him a little toward the pawnbroker.

"I happen to have a few excellent samples. Caught this morning." Grimsby stuck up his finger. "One moment, if you please. Let me get them for you."

Gold shifted his weight and watched the older man disappear inside. Bae had come up with the idea to ask Mr Grimsby when his father had cooked him codfish yet again and like any parent Gold was eager to nurture any enthusiasm for food that wasn't hamburgers or hotdogs with his teenage son.

Leaning on his cane the pawnbroker stared at the yacht-basin behind the cannery. He'd recently acquired it as the latest addition to his carefully built ownership over Storybrooke. He let his eyes trail over the white sailing ships bobbing up and down on the water while squawking seagulls drew wide circles in the grey skies above. A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he narrowed his eyes against the sharp daylight and watched as one of the seagulls landed on a mast, loudly declaring it his.

As with various other parts in town he'd been very keen on bringing the yacht-basin under his influence and he'd made his first mark when he'd succeeded years ago. Unlike his other buys however the yacht-basin's promising proceeds hadn't been of particular interest to him. The ability to keep a close eye on who was entering and leaving the harbour however was. With this latest buy Gold had made sure that if a certain vessel called the Jolly Roger would ever dared to make port in Storybrooke he would be the first to know.

Though there was no need to tell the community, this would actually be the last buy-out he'd pursue in this town. The truth was that his activities in that area, which had earned him the nickname of Storybrooke's landlord, had merely been an instrument to distract himself during his search for Bae. Now that the boy was back with him again, trying to beat August at some ungodly PlayStation game at this very moment he suspected, he did neither need nor want the diversion anymore. No, at the moment the search for Miss Australia was distraction enough and therefore it suited him that at this stage his work only required maintenance.

"Here you are, Mr. Gold."

Gold turned around to see Grimsby return with a bag and he allowed himself a little smile as he reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet.

"Thank you, Mr. Grimsby. I expect Baelfire to be very pleased to try something other than codfish for a change," he stated graciously as he handed him a few bills.

"Ah, the boy," Grimsby nodded as he took the money and discreetly let it disappear into his pocket. "How is he settling in?"

For a brief moment Gold studied the older man to gauge his intentions. His expression – polite as ever – however lacked the hunger for information he knew to distrust with most inhabitants of Storybrooke.

"He's settling in quite nicely. The school football team was glad to have him from what I understand of it."

Grimsby gave a thoughtful nod. "It has gotten busy with newcomers in Storybrooke lately. My own nephew has a girlfriend from all the way over at Portland and last time she visited she brought a friend who's interested in the position of librarian in this town. I believe you saw them?"

Gold kept his features straight as Grimsby awaited his response with lifted eyebrows and nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"Lovely girl, lovely girl. Very kind," Grimsby inclined his head as he smiled fondly. Gold cast a feigned look of indifference at the marina, though he remembered the brunette rather clearly.

"What's her name?"

It was an odd question, and Mr. Grimsby fell silent. A sharp look appeared in his eyes as he studied the town lawyer, pawnbroker and landlord, clearly probing his intentions with this piece of information.

He didn't know that Gold had actually surprised himself with the straightforward question. Did he really think that she could be Miss Australia? How ridiculously hopeful of him.

After a few moments something seemed to click in the older man's mind and a broad smile appeared on his lips.

"Ah yes, of course. You need to know as you're on the selection committee for the new town librarian, isn't it?"

Gold gave a non-committal nod and Mr. Grimsby didn't need any more encouragement.

"Well, I for one would love to see such a kind and warm person as our new librarian," he told the pawnbroker, enthused about the prospect. "Her name is Belle French and she's a librarian from Portland."

Belle French.

The southern belle from Portland, Maine, whose letter Bae had liked so much. Gold immediately remembered the promising resume and the letter with that one intriguing sentence.

_I would like to take up the challenge to create something new with the Storybrooke library._

So, she and the petite brunette on the docks were one and the same person? Interesting. Very interesting.

Gold gripped his cane a little tighter and cleared his throat, knowing that Mr. Grimsby was expecting a conversational reply from the pawnbroker.

"I'll keep that in mind when we start with our interviews, Mr. Grimsby. Let's hope that she won't withdraw her application now that she's seen the state of the library."

* * *

 "Good evening and welcome to the first meeting of our committee. Thank you Mrs. Nolan for providing us with the teacher's common room to meet. Our goal is to find a librarian who will be able to face the challenges of reopening Storybrooke's library."

Mr. Gold's sonorous voice efficiently stating terms of purpose and business filled the classroom as his eyes trailed from the sweet Mrs. Nolan to Mr. Glass, in his usual role of spy for the Mayor.

Mrs. Nolan had asked not to meet at the mayor's office so Gold had suggested the common room in stead.

Now, Mrs. Nolan nodded graciously, if not a little relieved and Mr. Glass just stared at him with his usual stony expression.

"As the both of you know, the Mayor has decided to fulfil an important election promise to reopen the library and has agreed to form a committee to do the selection procedure. I've nominated Mary Margaret Nolan, who has to work together closely with the new librarian. Mayor Mills has nominated Mr. Glass." Gold paused for a meaningful silence before he continued on a business-like tone.

"The job advert has brought in 380 applications from which I've selected fifty for the interviews. Our meeting today is to determine how to go about this. ** _"_**

Mr. Glass' had paled during Gold's quiet briefing. "Fifty? Isn't that a bit much? It will take weeks to see them all."

"Yes, I suppose it will," Gold agreed pleasantly. I'm sure the Mayor will want to make sure the library is in the best possible care. Any objections, Mr. Glass? "

Mrs. Nolan's lip quirked as Mr. Glass hastily shook his head.

"Now that that's established, I suggest we talk about schedules first, then possible locations for the interviews to be held and I'd like to discuss the applicants I've selected for our first round of interviews ** _."_**

He distributed the letters between the teacher and the journalist and then used his cane to get up from the uncomfortable conference chair.

"I'll get you some coffee, while you read."

After a little while Mrs. Nolan looked up.

"I like three of them."

Gold studied her from above his mug saying he was the best teacher in the world.

"Who are they?"

"Erm." She took a quick look at the names above the resumes. "Stuart Bauer, though I think he might be a little bit too young. Belle French - she has attended a good university and has working experience in a larger library. And Leigh Devon. She and Belle French resemble each other in age and experience."

Mr. Gold nodded thoughtfully. He wondered how long it would take her to understand that most of the women selected had these things in common. And when she did, it was of the essence that she would not alarm Mr. Glass with her findings. Somehow, he thought she might understand. She loved Sheriff Nolan deeply and seemed to be an advocate for world happiness. He could only hope that the Coca-Cola Company didn't get their hands on her or all the grumpiness in the world would not survive it.

"Mr. Glass?"

The journalist had remained silent until now though he had been writing down information from the resumes, clearly to pass on to the Mayor later on.

"I agree with Mrs. Nolan," he said disinterestedly. "So, we'll start in two weeks?"

* * *

 Carefully, Gold put his cane against his nightstand and slid under the thick but still cool covers. The room was chilly, just how he liked it. The warm light of the table lamp lit up his weathered features as he turned around and checked the amount of energy left in his old-fashioned flip phone before turning off the light.

Darkness suddenly covered him.

It had been three weeks now since Gold had worked up the courage to get behind Bae's laptop and find and register again with the Wynken, Blynken & Nod Wake-Up Service. This time he'd made sure to pay for the whole year before closing off with a sigh.

Knowing his lack of luck he didn't have much confidence that his registration would help finding Miss Australia and to be honest he wasn't looking forward to receiving all those wake-up calls again. But he'd found that he had to do anything in his power that would help finding her.

He didn't know if Bae had noticed. Apparently the boy could find his entire search history in his browser, but Gold didn't really care. He kept no secrets from his son.

Up until now his renewed registration hadn't brought Miss Australia back to him. The only remotely interesting person he'd come across had been a Chinese man who'd insisted on telling him his fortune… and told him he would succeed in his search for his True Love. Of course, when Gold had asked the man the name of his True Love – (it couldn't hurt to try) – the man had to admit defeat.

He pulled the covers up to his neck and slowly closed his eyes as the howling wind outside carried away all thought about Miss Australia.

* * *

Somewhere, in a small office in Los Angeles, a chubby young man sporting a faded red t-shirt reading _"You Are Here"_ leaned back in his rickety chair, tapping a pen against his chin. He stared thoughtfully at his wide-screen computer that showed two profiles, both belonging to people in Maine, a man and a woman.

He looked up when the lights went out in the room next to him and his friend and cofounder of the Wynken, Blynken & Nod Wake-Up Service appeared.

"I'm calling it a day. Aren't you?"

The seated man nodded vaguely without taking his eyes off the screen. "Remember I told you about that participant who called in, rather desperate I'd say, to ask about someone who'd disappeared after two encounters?"

The colleague leaned against the desk. "Wasn't it that his son had signed him up for it in the first place, but then it sort of clicked between them and then he suddenly disappeared before their third encounter when they would be able to exchange names and addresses because the son had forgotten to extend his trial subscription? That's really so Sleepless in Seattle. I can't believe you fell for that story."

The man in the red t-shirt shot his friend a look. "That's because I actually do have a heart. The only man that fitted her description had indeed disappeared after his trial subscription ended. So, I told her so."

His friend lifted his eyebrow. "So, you told me you told her so, remember. So what?"

"He's back."

The eyebrows now knitted together. "He's what?"

"That man that disappeared from her rotation list. He has subscribed two weeks ago and paid for a year. Back office told me today."

Now his friend went to stand beside him and he too stared at the profiles as he came to the only possible conclusion. "He wants to try and find her."

The man in red shirt nodded and went with his hand through his blond curls. "There's only 1 in 1 billion chance he will."

"That's how we programmed it," his friend acknowledged.

"Unless I give them a little push in the right direction." The man drummed his fingers on the table and avoided to look at his friend who burst into laughing.

"You're hopeless when it comes to romantics, you know that?"

"Well, isn't providing people with a chance to meet what we started this service for in the first place?" The man in the red t-shirt defended himself but he smiled too.

"All right," his friend sighed. "If you're dead set on playing Cupid, you must do as you wish, but don't make a habit of it. I don't want this site to become a dating service instead of a wake-up service. I'll buy you out if that happens."

"You can't. I'm the brains of this operation." The chubby man lifted both his eyebrows at his friend and smiled.

"Sure I can. Look what they did with Steve Jobs."

"Yeah, bad example," the man in the red t-shirt rolled his eyes. "They had to crawl on their knees to get him back."

His friend shook his head. "I'm going. See you tomorrow, Cupid!"

Silence once again descended on the young man in the red t-shirt and his large computer screen. A small smile appeared on his lips when after a few more moments he put his fingers on the keyboard and swiftly fed a few commands into the system.

The last screen before he closed-off told him that putting Miss French back on Mr. Gold's rotation list had been successful.

"Enjoy, you guys. Try not to mess it up this time," he mumbled and grabbed his grey hooded jacket before he left the building as well.

* * *

  _Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiiinnnggg!_

Gold's eyes flew open, his mind registering the sound of his mobile phone ringing as the start of a new day.

His hand automatically reached for the device protesting angrily on his nightstand. Perhaps today he'd encounter a fortune-teller who _could_ tell him Miss Australia's name.

"Good morning."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, then the person on the other side of the line said, "No. It can't be."

For a moment Gold was tempted to hang up immediately to avoid the second existential crisis was now coming across in a week's time, after the wailing woman he'd encountered two days earlier. He didn't have the stomach for it on an early Tuesday morning.

Then the wind was knocked out of him as realisation hit him full force. He'd heard the voice of a young woman, laced with an unmistakable accent.

For a moment he actually seemed to have lost his tongue and he swallowed before he brought out, "Miss Australia? Is that you?"

His blood pounded in his ears as he sat up straight, all thought about his morning routine forgotten as he heard what sounded like a muffled sob on the other side of the line.

"Sweetheart?" Now his voice started to sound hoarse all of a sudden. "Is it really you?"

He closed his eyes when finally the voice he'd come to love and miss so much once again cascaded over him.

"I… I thought… I'd lost you." Heartbreaking small sobs accompanied her voice and despite himself he felt a wave of pain and regret wash over him as well.

"I'm sorry, I'm being stupid." She tried to control herself. "I'm just…"

"I missed you."

Subconsciously his voice had started sounding and his lips had started moving but he didn't feel like swallowing the heartfelt words. Hearing Miss Australia's voice again was simply too overwhelming.

"I missed you so much I can't bear it."

"Me too," she whispered in his ear and it sounded like music to him. But a strange kind of panic rising inside of him urged him to keep talking, to take this chance of finding out who she was, where she was. And find her.

"Where are you? Tell me, sweetheart and I'll come for you."

"I… I'm…" she stuttered with an adorable last hiccup when a loud, shrill beep cut her off.

Gold cursed under his breath as he jerked the phone from his ear. A nasty ringing resounded deep within and he barely picked up her sigh.

"That's a warning," he heard her say softly as he lifted the phone again. "Next time I think the computer will severe the connection. We've been put in a new rotation so if we don't want to lose contact this time, we have no choice but to sit out two phone calls before we can exchange names and addresses."

Gold grumbled as he realised that once again he was allowed no short cuts by the fates. He had to go through every damn agonising moment of waiting before the harpies decided to reveal what he was looking for.

"It doesn't matter. Now that I'm back on your rotation list it's only a matter of time before you know who I am." Miss Australia's voice returned and her soothing tone held such a warmth that his body relaxed and the frown on his forehead eased away.

"Yes," he acknowledged her words in a half-sigh. "I never thought that this would work though. So I went looking for you. I needed to find you."

"Me too." She sounded a bit breathless. "I called the organisation. They wouldn't tell me your name but they said that you had dropped out after your trial subscription had ended."

"Ah well, what can I say?" He rolled his eyes and made a small flourish. "Bae found out about the conditions when it was already too late. So I had no choice but to sign up again. I never thought it would actually work."

"The chances are very slim," she agreed. "Perhaps we were lucky this time."

Gold grimaced. He wished he could be as positive as she was.

"How is Bae?" Her soft voice always sounded so lovely when she said his son's name.

"He's looking for you too," Gold responded, his features softening.

"Really?" She sounded oddly hopeful and his heart took an equal odd leap in his chest.

"Yes, he very much wants to meet you," he confirmed truthfully.

On the other side of the line she let out a small sigh. "I'd like to meet you too. The both of you."

His heartbeat quickened. Suddenly he realised that now was the time. Now he could tell her about the search for a new librarian, to ask her if she'd seen the ad, to ask her if she had responded.

"Miss Australia… Perhaps this can be arranged quicker than you think."

"Yes?" She seemed to hold her breath.

"What do you know about construction work?"

"Construction work?" She repeated confusedly.

"I mean building and renovating, those kind of things," Gold said while inwardly he wondered where he was going with this. She clearly didn't understand it.

"I'm a librarian, Mr. Scotsman. Not a construction worker. I won't recommend hiring me to install your new kitchen, if you're planning on buying one," she replied good-naturedly and he closed his eyes, knowing that this clumsy attempt had failed miserably. "Unless…"

Suddenly her tone changed. "You're rebuilding your community library."

She seemed completely caught off guard and Gold clenched his mobile phone even tighter when he answered in a hoarse voice, "We are."

For a very long time Miss Australia said nothing and finally the silence became too much for Gold.

"Miss Aus-"

"Hang on for a moment, I have a call waiting." She sounded as surprised as he was and before he could protest she switched.

Then his breath caught in his throat.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they were both still linked to the WB&N server but to his total bewilderment the next moment an unknown female voice bellowing in his ear, "… I found him, I found him! Last night I thought I'd try to Google his son's name, because, you know, it's the simplest way of starting a search and I really, really can't understand that you didn't come up with it before. Do you librarians even know the Internet exists? Anyways…"

The third person that had so rudely interrupted in their conversation gulped in some air. "I Googled his son's name – Baelfire wasn't it?"

Harshly the breath was knocked out of him while he soundlessly repeated the name.

"And of course I didn't know how to spell such a strange name, I mean what were his parents thinking?! But…" another gulp of air followed and stars appeared before his eyes, "a website popped up anyway and you would never guess whose website it was. I couldn't believe it myself! I'm still flabbergasted. It's…"

"Mr. Gold's," he heard Miss Australia say softly and before Gold could do anything the computer severed the link.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for the late update. Life's getting in the way big time. That's why this story isn't updated as regularly as I would like to. I'm really glad with your patience though. I couldn't have hoped for it but it's wonderful to read reviews inquiring after updates.
> 
> I'm chuffed that so many of you love this story so much. I really hope you like this new installment. 
> 
> The phone call certainly changes a few things as Belle now knows Gold's identity while he still doesn't know hers... Although... 
> 
> Also, did you recognize the man in the shirt reading "You Are Here"?
> 
> As always I would like to thank Delintthedarkone for her precious advise. She is such a quirky, lovely person and I can't be any more grateful to have her as my beta.
> 
> The title is inspired by the hit song Mr. Rock & Roll by the Scottish (Glaswegian) singer songwriter Amy Macdonald.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


	8. Two Sides Of The Same Coin

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 8: Two Sides Of The Same Coin**

* * *

 "Bells? Bells!"

"I have to go."

On autopilot Belle replied to the far echo of a voice demanding her attention as her eyes gazed unseeingly into the distance.

"But, Bells. Wait, no…"

Her legs felt numb and the mobile phone was shaking in her hand as she lowered it, giving in to gravity. Her thumb found the red button and all at once everything grew silent around her.

For moments she stood there, frozen, unable to move as images of Mr. Gold, his car and the yellowed neon sign above his Storybrooke shop whirled around in her head frantically, unstoppably, maddeningly. Demanding that she would accept the glaring, inescapable truth.

Mr. Scotsman was Mr. Gold.

Finally her legs finally gave out underneath her and she slithered to the floor in slow motion.

The moment she touched the floor, she began to tremble.

They were the same person. The man with the soft voice and gentle Scottish accent, habitually calling her Dearie until he didn't anymore. The cold, impeccably dressed man at the docks that everybody feared.

Belle closed her eyes.

"Mr. Gold," she whispered. And again she felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered how at the docks he'd turned around and gave her a stare then nodded slowly.

This was the man who had shared with her his genuine interest in the historical artefacts in his pawnshop. This was the man who had expressed his love and devotion to his son to her. This was the man who had confided in her about his deepest insecurities when it came to raising his son. This was the man who understood and admired her thirst for books and knowledge.

Mr. Scotsman.

The man who had told her that he missed her and was searching to find her.

Mr. Scotsman.

'I'm a pawnbroker and antiquities dealer, Dearie,' his soft voice sounded dismissively in her memory, merging with the image of the businessman leaning on his cane. Some secret agent she was.

"Mr. Gold," she repeated a little louder. "I should have known."

Belle groaned and let her head fall down on her bent knees. She didn't know what kind of glitch had caused Ary to break into their first conversation in weeks. But whatever it was it had revealed the elusive Mr. Scotman's identity in the cruellest way possible – by the hand of a callous, unsuspecting friend.

The librarian cringed as she thought about the things Ary had said on Mr. Scotman's expense – perfectly oblivious as she'd been to Mr. Sco- no, Mr. Gold's presence on the other side of the line.

And the computer had been merciless. The moment she let slip his name the line had been severed and he had vanished into thin air. And all he had taken with him was the memory of Ary's voice ridiculing his son's name. He probably thought that she had betrayed his trust in the worst possible way by telling random friends of hers all about his private life. Of which he had been perfectly clear was nobody's business, except for reasons unfathomable for the anonymous Australian librarian on the other side of the line.

A dry bleep from her phone made Belle look up as a text message appeared. It was from Ariel.

'When you're ready, pick up the phone. We have to talk,' it read.

Silently Belle put down the phone and picked up the envelope, which had arrived by mail this morning. She'd let it slip from her fingers upon hearing Mr. Scotman's voice on the other side of the line.

On the left corner of the envelope she saw a red coat of arms depicting an apple tree above an opened book. A letter from Storybrooke, she realised without any excitement.

Numbly she opened the envelope with her forefinger, too drained to find herself a paperknife. With an empty gaze she scanned the typed letter and emotionlessly registered that she was invited for a job interview for the position of librarian in Storybrooke.

It was signed by Mr. R. Gold LLM, chair of the selection committee.

A single tear formed in the corner of Belle's eye at seeing the firm signature and she put down the letter with trembling fingers.

Then she rested her cheek on her knees.

Mr. Scotsman and Mr. Gold – voice and vision. Two sides of one coin that would remain separate for all eternity.

Belle closed her eyes and wept.

* * *

 "I'm sorry, Belle. I really am."

Ariel shook her head.

"I didn't know. Otherwise I wouldn't have made that comment about his son's name."

Ariel stared at Belle's pale, dejected features. It had taken her a lot of persuasion to drag Belle out of the library, where she'd buried herself in her work. Only the prospect of a Gingerbread Latte had been able to seduce the librarian to follow her friend to Starbucks. However all Belle had done so far was stir the festive coffee and stare at the modern Christmas themed stickers on the window next to her. She didn't seem able to care.

Belle knew that it wasn't Ariel's fault. Somehow the computer had let her into her conversation with Mr. Scotsman and she couldn't have known. But it didn't change the way things were.

"It was clever of you to think of it. Baelfire has made his father quite a nice website. Very classy."

After Belle had recovered a little she hadn't been able to resist visiting the webpage. For half an hour she'd been staring at the small picture of the Storybrooke pawnbroker on the web page with immense sorrow in her heart, but Ary didn't need to know that.

The sound of Ary's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"You know I'm the last person who would tell you to stop pursuing any relationship with someone. I mean I understand you like no other. God knows what Eric and I have been through before my father accepted our relationship."

Sombrely, Belle listened as Ariel leaned forward with a fierce look in her eyes.

"And that's why I find this so difficult to say, but I'm your friend and I feel partly responsible for encouraging you to go out more and all that."

Ary's eyebrows knitted together. "But Bells, whatever your feelings are about Mr. Gold, you must forget about him. He's a dangerous man. He's bad news, very bad news."

"Why?" Belle replied tonelessly. It was the first thing she'd said since they'd sat down and she threw Ary a distinct, sceptical look. "Because everybody hates his guts for being their landlord or moneylender? You have to do better than that, Ary."

Ary sharply eyed her friend but Belle didn't seem to be defending the Storybrooke pawnbroker, she was merely being cynical.

"Of course not, Bells. Don't be stupid. You heard what Eric said. How do you think he gained all this influence in Storybrooke? The man is ruthless. He's power hungry. It's all he cares about. Everyone who gets in his way is eliminated."

Belle silently watched her friend as Ary took an agitated sip from her chocolate spice coffee. It felt rather ironic that not two days ago she and Ary were eagerly discussing ways of finding Mr. Scotsman and now Ary was looking at her with the same look of fear and contempt she remembered from the harbour.

Though Belle knew next to nothing about Mr. Gold she felt that Ary's warnings were based more on the man's disreputable reputation than anything else. Indifferently she stirred her coffee.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit, now?"

Ary pursed her lips.

"For God's sake, Belle," she hissed as she leaned in even further. "The man killed his wife!"

That gave Belle a pause and her expression hardened.

"That's a very grave accusation, Ary."

Ary narrowed her eyes and slightly inclined her head. "Perhaps. What did he tell you about her?"

Belle's thoughts drifted to the vulnerable moments on the phone when Mr. Scotsman had told her about his son and a painful sting shot through her heart. What did Mr. Scotsman tell about the woman he'd called Bae's mother?

"He said," she replied tactfully, "that she passed away when his son was about eight years old. Before that his son's upbringing fell on his shoulders in her frequent absence."

"Passed away," Ary responded sarcastically but Belle had seen the softening in her eyes. Her father too had faced the task of raising his daughters alone.

Belle shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyway. After what happened I'm convinced he wouldn't want to restore contact with me."

"Bells, I know you don't want to hear this right now…" Ary began but Belle cut her off.

"… It's better anyway. Yes, you said that." She cast a look out the window. Outside people were struggling with umbrellas against the snow flurries of December. "But it doesn't feel that way, Ary. It feels as if I've betrayed his trust in me and it hurts."

The pained expression in Belle's eyes made Ary reach for her hand.

"I'm sorry, Belle. I really am," she said softly and Belle bit her lip, while lowering her gaze.

"I know," she replied a little hoarsely. "I guess there's nothing to it. I'll write a response and tell the selection committee that I shall pull out of the selection procedure. My father will be glad – I'm not leaving Portland after all."

She shot Ary a watery smile as she stood up and the redhead had to will back the tears brimming in her own eyes while Belle turned to leave.

Her coffee was left behind untouched.

* * *

 "Papa?"

Vaguely Gold detected a thumping sound then someone with familiar features – Baelfire – gently wrenched his ancient cell phone from his fingers.

"Papa," his son mumbled soothingly and the soft but decisive guidance of Bae's hands made Gold step back until his legs touched the bed and he automatically sat down.

"What happened?"

"She knows who I am."

"Who does?"

"Miss Australia."

Baelfire squatted down and caught his father's unseeing stare. "Is that what you call her?"

If he were surprised, the boy didn't show it. Instead he lightly put a hand to his father's knee.

His father nodded robotically.

"What did she say?"

"My name." Gold shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. "She said my name."

Baelfire's eyes narrowed. "She's one of the librarians who got the invitation letter."

He watched as his father struggled to regain control, doing a horrible job at it, while his thoughts ran rampage. Miss Australia. Finally he knew the nickname his father had for the mysterious Australian librarian. It was a funny quirk but he didn't register as he was watching his father worriedly.

Baelfire was surprised that his father hadn't jumped up at the prospect of Miss Australia knowing who he was, even if he didn't know who she was. He realized that something else must bother his father.

"Papa? What exactly happened on the phone?" He warily prompted his father and finally Gold seemed to really look at his son with a sharp gaze he recognized. His father was discontented. Very discontented.

"It was quite bizarre," Gold started slowly. "She was telling me that she'd seen the job ad and had responded to it when someone, I don't know who it was or how it happened, broke into our conversation."

While his father was talking Baelfire silently stood up and sat down next to his father. Gold folded his hands around his cane and stared at the door.

"She – it was a woman – sounded excited and… triumphant, I would think. From what I gathered the idea had occurred to her to check… your name", he cast his son a sharp look, "in the Google database."

Baelfire shot up. "She found the website? Did she actually say my name?" He asked enthusiastically.

Gold nodded without a trace of excitement. "Yes to both questions."

He tapped his cane on the floor while the corners of his mouth pointed downwards.

"But that is fantastic! I said it would work. I knew it!"

Baelfire's eyes glistened as he jumped up.

"Except," his father then harshly interrupted, "that it wasn't her who looked you up on the Internet. It was someone else, a person I don't remember ever talking to about you."

"So?" Baelfire's excitement disappeared and he blinked in confusion.

"So, if this person knew your name then what else did she tell this person about you… about us?"

Baelfire frowned. He didn't like where this was going. "Then you should ask her when she shows up."

A dark shadow passed over Mr. Gold's features and he stood up abruptly. "It's time for you to go to school, Bae. I'll make you some oatmeal. There isn't time for anything else."

"But Papa…" Baelfire started in protest but Gold ignored him, his face hardened in an implacable expression.

"Don't forget to take your schoolbag on the way down."

* * *

 When there were no customers wasting his precious time, Mr. Gold preferred the backroom to the shop to the front. It was slightly warmer in there and he could sit comfortably on the stool old Gepetto had made him many years ago. He loved the warm, weathered surface of his workbench, the wood softened by intensive use, above the polished counter at the front and the tools and spare parts that surrounded him. In the backroom he could truly be himself.

Today he was repairing an opal necklace but to his growing frustration he lacked the concentration needed to complete the delicate work. Finally when he failed to bend back the thin gold thread sticking out yet again, he put aside his equipment with a soft growl and closed his eyes.

His thoughts kept going back to the unexpected phone call this morning. A surprise that had started out so wonderful with the sound of Miss Australia's voice, which he had missed so much, then had taken a turn for the worse. The echo of the excited voice harshly intruding in their longing conversation still screeched inside his head, fuelling the stinging hurt that told him that Miss Australia had betrayed his trust.

She had told at least one person about Bae and that someone had felt comfortable enough with the information to poke fun at the only person in the world he loved more than his life. Bae had shrugged about it but Gold couldn't help being inherently deeply distrustful of everyone. For many years he had avoided to make anybody, not even – or especially not – Cora, privy to his thoughts. Miss Australia had been the first.

He still didn't know what had made him spill to her. Perhaps it had been the distance, her gentle encouragement, and their shared interests. But now his darkest fears told him that she had simply manipulated him. In essence she was worse than Cora and that daughter of hers combined and…

"I didn't peg you as a daydreamer, Gold."

Gold's head went up a little faster than normal and his nails dug visibly in the wood of his workbench upon seeing the mayor standing before him, immaculately dressed in a dark blue ensemble and with a faint expression of mockery on her perfect features.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He asked a little sharper than intended as he got up with difficulty. After sitting on his stool for hours his hurt ankle had indeed gone to sleep.

Regina allowed herself a faint smile, while she took everything in sharply under the pretence of looking away politely.

"There was no one in the shop and I find myself in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps you should consider hiring a shop assistant instead of a librarian."

Gold didn't fail to notice her smugness at having caught him deep in thought and his irritation rose though he didn't show.

He scoffed.

"Well my dear, you have my attention now. I must warn you that I don't have much time. I have to pick up Baelfire from the football field in about ten minutes."

As he spoke he ushered her out of the backroom and closed the curtains with decisive movements.

"I would like to know how things are going with the selection procedure," she stated and he gave her a disdainful look.

"Don't you have your lapdog to inform you?"

Her dark eyes slightly narrowed. "I would like to hear it from you."

His eyebrows lifted mockingly as he cast a look on the clock behind Regina. "Well dear, I'm flattered but I don't have time for an extensive briefing right now. The interviews are starting in two days and will take about two and a half weeks to complete. But I'm sure Mr. Glass has already told you this."

"Indeed he has," Regina admitted and wrinkled her delicate nose. "He has also told me that most of the applicants invited for the interviews are women in their thirties. I wonder why."

So, the lapdog had noticed after all, Gold thought – as usual a little late for a research journalist such as Mr. Glass.

He made a show of closing down the cash register for the night and said without looking the mayor in the eye, "I don't know what you're suggesting, Regina but I would strongly recommend that we keep this whole procedure as professional as possible. Whatever your reasons are I won't be merciful if you try to smear my good name."

Now he looked up and with a small tilt of his head to get his greying hair out of his face, he gave Regina a hard stare daring her to voice her insinuations.

Regina's mouth hardened but he could see her swallow behind her stand-up woollen collar.

"Don't worry, I won't," she replied with her deep voice that sounded somewhat disdainfully and inwardly he applauded her for her ability to regain her composure.

"But…?" He prompted indifferently as he began to switch the lights off.

She made a step forward and leaned her gloved hands on the polished counter.

"But I think you're using this procedure as a disguise because you're looking for someone," she snapped at him and for a moment he processed her words with a blank face, then he leaned forward as well and inclined his head. He scoffed again.

"Am I? Then what are you going to do about it?"

He stared at her with a clear warning in his eyes while at the same time tried to ignore the stab in his heart at the thought of Miss Australia. What use was this whole charade anymore now that the reason for it all had betrayed his trust like she had?

"I know you bought the marina to find your son, Gold," the mayor replied coldly. "This is just like it: another one of your plans to find someone."

His expression hardened and he said in a low voice, "I repeat my question, Madam Mayor. If we pretend for one moment that your phantasms are true, then what are you going to do about it? Stop the selection procedure? Must I remind you that Storybrooke wishes for nothing better than the library to be reopened? Must I refresh your memory in that I saved the marina from going bankrupt and made it profitable again, while you wanted to close it down? What kind of mayor continues to impair the interests of the town she serves?"

Regina paled but hissed nonetheless, "And how do I know this procedure will actually yield someone capable of doing the job?"

Gold quirked up one eyebrow.

"You mean like yourself?" He responded lazily as he rounded the counter. He put a single hand to silence the mayor when she heatedly opened her mouth to protest.

"Dearie, you're more than welcome to read all the applications to see if the selection I made is justified," Gold remarked on a light, emotionless tone, which made it impossible to know what he was thinking. Regina did know however that he was calling her bluff.

She would never accept the invitation and he knew it. With a huff she turned and followed in Gold's elegant gesture directing her toward the door.

"Rest assured, Dearie," Gold said dismissively as he closed the shop for the night, "that whomever we'll choose will be fully licensed and capable of running a library. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a family life to return to. Goodnight, Madam Mayor."

With this last jab Gold left he mayor standing, indifferent of which poor soul would cross her path to torture next. Under different circumstances he would feel smug that he'd managed to get her off his back at least a while.

But now, as he quickly stepped in his car and brushed the snowflakes from his coat, the only thing he felt was bitterness. After all, with no Miss Australia to search for, the selection procedure had lost its meaning.

It felt as if Regina had won and she didn't even know it.

* * *

 "I'm worried about Belle."

It was a Saturday evening and Eric had just selected Ary's old time favourite You've Got Mail and they were planning watching it with a well deserved glass of wine.

Eric thoughtfully eyed his fiancée. Today they'd spent a full hour of tasting wedding cakes and choosing wedding invitations, and the whole day she'd been utterly distracted.

"Why?"

For an endless moment Ary drummed her fingers against her glass. Then she sighed.

"All right. But you must promise me you'll keep this a secret."

"I promise." Eric was a little surprised at her intense words.

With a light sigh Ary put her glass on the coffee table and tucked her feet underneath her on the sofa. She stared at the small Christmas tree that was shoved in a corner between the sofa and a side table. If it weren't for the many goofy Christmas decorations it was ordained with it would look quite miserable.

"You know I told you that Belle takes part in this online alarm service where participants call each other awake anonymously?"

Eric nodded quietly. "Has she met someone there?"

He'd noticed that Belle had been more chipper the last time he'd seen her in Storybrooke. At that moment she had been about to apply for the job of librarian, which he silently welcomed as it would be an incentive for Ariel to come live in the small town.

Ariel gave him a miserable look.

"Yes," she groaned and Eric quirked his eyebrows.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Ariel groaned again. "Yes. No. Yes. Aargh… It's complicated."

"Like the relationship option on Facebook?" Eric asked casually and his fiancée sent him a dark look.

"Stop it. This is really hard for me, you know. But I have to tell you because I need your advice."

Eric shrugged. "I'm listening."

"You're right, she has met someone – and not just someone. She actually didn't know until this Monday..."

She took in a deep breath. "It's Mr. Gold."

Eric coughed in his glass of wine. "Mr. Gold?!"

Another cough ripped through him. "You mean – our Mr. Gold?"

Ariel bit her lip and looked away. "Yes."

"How does she know that? Isn't that service supposed to be anonymous?"

Ariel's look turned miserable again. "Because I told her. Last Monday I had this luminous idea to try and Google his son's name."

"Baelfire," Eric supplied helpfully and his fiancée sharply drew in her breath.

"Oh, God! How could I be so stupid? Of course you would know him _and_ his son! You knew all along. Then again…"

"If you'd mentioned him you would have broken your promise to Belle and I try to avoid talking about Mr. Gold if I can help it."

Eric looked distastefully at his wine as if the sole mention of Mr. Gold had spoiled it. Perhaps coughing in it because of Mr. Gold didn't help either.

"Anyway, I Googled his son and found a website. Mr. Gold's website. So, I called Belle and in my excitement I poked fun at his son's name. Turned out that he was on the other side of the line and I had broken into a conversation between him and Belle."

Ary let her head fall on her raised knees, her hair falling around her like a curtain of shiny polished copper.

Eric's expression softened and put his hand over hers. "You couldn't help it. You didn't know."

"I know," sounded dejectedly from somewhere underneath the cascade of copper locks. "But still I feel guilty about what happened. And here's the thing: I want to correct it, but at the same time I want her to stay as far away from Mr. Gold as possible."

"Why?" Eric asked interestedly and Ariel jerked up her head, looking at him in bewilderment.

"Why, he asks? Because he's only the most feared man in Storybrooke and a horrible person that only thinks about himself at that. For God's sake, Eric, you told me he killed his wife!"

Eric stared at his fiancée in confusion. "No, I didn't. I told you what the whole of Storybrooke says about him. I never meant to say that it's actually true."

Ary had paled.

"What do you say?" She whispered.

Eric rested his arm on the sofa.

"On the contrary," he continued with a frown. "I was there when the man in black leather yelled the accusation at Mr. Gold at the docks. He said Baelfire belonged with him and that Mr. Gold had killed his mother."

"What?!"

Ary shot up straight. "Why didn't you tell me? This is terrible!"

Her fiancé actually began to look a bit worried. "I should have, shouldn't I?"

Ary nodded vigorously. "Yeah, you should have. I could have avoided doing what I've done. Is this common knowledge in Storybrooke?"

Eric smiled uncomfortably. "Well, that's the funny thing. I think I was the only one who stood close enough to hear that part of the conversation."

Eric looked upwards as he tried to remember the exact words Mr. Gold had used. "He said that the man in black leather didn't know what he was talking about, that she'd died hanging off his bad ankle in a terrible landslide trying to save a few sheep of a neighbour that had gone missing in the pouring rain. The last thing she'd said was that she'd already caused him so much pain she didn't want to inflict any more on him. He then yelled that if his ankle had caused this to happen, then and I quote, 'Yes, I have killed my wife.' It was the first and only time I've heard Mr. Gold raise his voice. And that was exactly what other witnesses heard that has spread around town. I think he spoke the truth that day because his son seems to adore him."

With a sympathetic look in his eyes Eric leaned forward and gently wiped the few tears from Ary's cheek.

"I've only made it worse," she whispered. "Not only have I given him a reason to think that Belle has spilled everything about their conversations to me, but I also told Belle that he killed his wife."

Her lovely face disappeared in her hands and Eric stood up to wrap his arms around her.

"It's all right," he whispered. "It will be all right."

"But what must I do?" Ary hiccuped against his chest.

Eric gave her question a thought, then said, "Talk to Baelfire. He'll listen to you."

* * *

 From the corner of his eye Baelfire saw the ball flying toward him from the other side of the field. August hadn't been able to force his way through the defence line and hoped that Baelfire would be luckier.

Automatically Baelfire captured it with his right foot, and in a split second he saw the opportunity. Neatly he turned away from his opponent and took the ball some twenty meters forward then shot it right in front of his opponent's feet. A roar of excitement went through the players and in the dug out Jim Frederick, the coach, was jumping up and down like a madman.

With a lopsided grin Baelfire waved at his teammates and readied himself for the opposition's goalie to kick the ball back in the game when his gaze was drawn to a young woman watching the game from the side lines. She was standing among the soccer moms but he didn't recognize her as one of them. Definitely younger than the soccer moms she was looking intently in his direction while her long red hair waved around her in the icy wind. To his surprise he then saw a little girl next to her, holding her hand and watching him too. Emma.

Hesitantly Baelfire lifted his hand to greet her but was stopped harshly by the ball flying painfully in his face.

"Hey, Gold! Pay attention, please. We haven't won yet!" Coach Frederick yelled from his booth and Baelfire waved apologetically at him as he rubbed his temple with his gloved fingers and went after his opponent.

For the rest of the second half Baelfire tried to concentrate on the game but every two minutes or so his eyes drifted to the side lines to check if the red haired woman was still there with Emma. He did his best and succeeded in capturing the ball a couple of times, but his lack of concentration and the other team closing their defences prevented him from reaching the strikers again. Their win was a meagre 0-1 but a win nonetheless.

When the referee blew the final whistle, Baelfire ignored Coach Frederick's head shakes and immediately went up to the soccer moms. They smiled at him and congratulated him but as always there was a thin veil of caution in their approach of Mr. Gold's son that Baelfire had become accustomed to.

He gave the moms one of Kilian's charming smiles, which broadened to a real one when Emma climbed over the fence and jumped into his arms enthusiastically.

"You won! You won!"

Several eyebrows were raised among the soccer moms and a few whispered something to one another. It didn't sound approvingly. Baelfire ignored them.

"Hey, Em," he said laughingly as he put her down and squatted down with her. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

The six-year-old put her head against his shoulder, the pom-pom on her beanie tickling his neck. She pouted.

"I wanted to see your game. Ariel said she would take me. You're really good! Will you teach me that trick where you heeled the ball?"

"Baelfire Gold, get your ass over here! You'll freeze to death if you stay out in this weather in your gear!" Coach Frederick yelled from across the field and Baelfire turned around.

"Just a moment, coach!" He called back and waved.

Coach Frederick shook his head.

"Just know that I refuse to be held accountable by your father, Gold!" He called but he smiled and disappeared into the changing room as the soccer moms pulled a sour face.

"Of course I will, Em," Baelfire promised. "So, who's your new friend?"

He looked up and straightening up he approached the woman that had thrown him so horribly off his game.

"My name is Ariel," the young woman with the red hair smiled and extended a hand, which the teenager shook under the watchful gaze of Emma. "I'm Eric Grimsby's fiancée."

"Eric's girlfriend from Portland," Baelfire understood and his face broke in a shy smile. "Nice to meet you. Very cool of you to take Emma to see this game."

The young woman gave him a serious look in return. "I'm actually here on behalf of a friend. I promise this won't take long. It's just… Your father is Mr. Gold, right?"

Baelfire inclined his head and wary expression passed over his features. "He is. Can I help you?"

Ariel shot a quick glance at the soccer moms who waited for their sons, their ears pricked.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"Of course."

Taking Emma by the hand, Baelfire followed Ariel as she led them closer to the tree line, bringing them securely out of earshot of any wayward listeners. Picking up the smaller child he hugged her close, blocking her from some of the biting wind.

"Yay!" Emma cheered as he lifted her up and he grinned.

"You can keep me warm, Em."

Immediately she wrapped her little arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Ariel's gaze softened.

"I'm really sorry," Ariel apologized with a worried expression. "I won't keep you long. It's just…"

She passed a hand through her long hair, looking definitely uncomfortable. "Do you happen to know if your father participates in an online alarm service where participants are called awake anonymously by other participants –"

"WB&N Social Alarm Service," Baelfire replied, sounding calmer than he felt. Inside excitement rose. His father's 'Miss Australia' had sent someone to find them!

"You know of it!" Ariel's eyes widened.

"I was the one who signed him up for it in the first place," Bae shrugged and smiled amusedly when Ariel exclaimed, "Then you are the right Baelfire!"

"Is there another then?" He grinned but his smile fell when Ariel's gaze changed to one of desperation.

"Please, can you help me? I'm afraid I did a terrible thing and I need to put it right before it's too late."

For a moment, Baelfire looked at her in confusion, then something clicked inside his head.

"You're the one who accidentally broke into their conversation last week," he stated, "because you found me through an Internet query."

Ariel's eyes widened. "Is that what your father has told you?"

"Yes, why? Is there more to it?" He frowned as he pulled up Emma, refusing to let her go yet. She really was the only thing keeping him warm at the moment but he also knew this conversation couldn't go on too long as much for her sake as his.

Ariel looked away and bit her lip. "Yes. Your father is a decent man for not telling you but in my excitement I poked fun at your name. I'm sorry."

The teenager wasn't impressed though.

"It's all right," Baelfire said good-naturedly. "I'm used to people having to get used to my name. I'm sure that you've experienced the same thing."

Ariel cast him a sharp look but when she saw the humor tinkling in his eyes she sighed and shook her head.

"I guess I deserved that," she sighed. "It's probably is the reason why I said what I said, anyway."

She passed a hand through her copper locks in which the wind had free play and added sarcastically, "Overjoyed to be able to finally say it myself for once. I'm sorry."

Baelfire nodded silently.

"But now…" She bit her lip again. "My friend is sure that your father doesn't want anything to do with her anymore because she betrayed his trust in her."

The boy's expression darkened and Ariel seemed to notice that he didn't say anything to deny it. A worried expression appeared on her beautiful features.

"That's why I'm here, Baelfire," she said as softly as the cold wind allowed for. "Your father has to know that she hasn't spilled anything to me or anyone else about you. She only told me your name."

To her surprise the teenager sighed and looked down on his football boots. "That's exactly what I told him too."

"You did? Does that mean he won't accept it from you, too?"

Ary's shrill voice matched the level of fear in her eyes and Baelfire's jaws clenched determinedly.

"Not yet, but if it's up to me that will change shortly," Baelfire announced and he finally brought Emma to the ground. The girl protested sleepily but Baelfire decisively led her to Ariel.

"Will you take her under your coat? She needs to stay warm."

"And you too, Mister. I brought you your jacket and pants," sounded Coach Frederick's voice behind them and he threw the teenager the garments. "Didn't I tell you to get inside? You used to be such a rule-abiding kid. What has gotten into you?"

His eye fell on Ariel. "Oh, I see. A woman."

And one he recognized instantly.

To the teacher's satisfaction Baelfire actually turned a little red at his remark, which was good, temperature-wise.

He extended his hand. "Ariel, right? Why are you detaining my best player in this cold? Is a Portland win next week of such importance to you that you want him sick in bed with pneumonia during the game?"

Though he spoke jokingly there was a serious undercurrent in his voice, making clear that he did fear for the boy's health.

Ariel acknowledged him with a smile. "I'm sorry. I won't be bothering him any longer. Emma here needs to get home and into bed too. I hope he'll be up an playing Portland next week."

In the meantime Baelfire had gratefully put on the warm clothes and glanced at the one soccer mom that had stayed behind in the cold to wait for him. She didn't look pleased – at all.

"Ariel," Baelfire asked, his lips moving with more difficulty form the cold. "What's your friend's name? Do we know her?"

The red haired woman shot a look at Coach Frederick who stepped back discreetly. "Your father doesn't know, but he has seen her without knowing who she was."

"Really?" Baelfire looked surprised and Ariel nodded.

"We were visiting my fiancé Eric at the cannery when Mr. Gold showed up to collect the rent," Ariel explained softly. "My friend was there too because she was planning on applying for the job of librarian."

A smile broke through on the teenager's handsome face. "My father created that vacancy to search for her."

Ariel's eyes widened.

"That's wonderful," she whispered and Baelfire's features tensed.

"Did she respond to it?" He asked to which Ariel nodded worriedly.

"Yes, yes she did. But now she's planning on withdrawing from the procedure. Her interview will be next week, but she says she won't be going to avoid meeting your father to 'not make things any more difficult for him' as she said it."

"You have to prevent that."

Baelfire's voice sounded very decisive all of a sudden and Ariel looked up in surprise but the teenager ignored it. "Tell her that she has to go to the interview. Do whatever is needed to get her going. And I will tell my father what you just said to me."

He nodded a goodbye and began to walk over to the angry soccer mom waiting for him. The boy had to huddle inside his jacket against the icy wind whistling around his lithe form.

Before he reached his teammate's mother he turned around and called, "Oh, I almost forgot. What's her name?"

Ariel smiled and carried by a gust of wind her gentle voice gave him the most precious thing in the world. A name.

"Belle. Belle French."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest readers, mea culpa. I'm so, so sorry it has taken me this long to update. I've tried your patience so much.
> 
> But despite life keep getting in the way like it has done for the past couple of months I never leave a story unfinished and I love writing this story. I hope you liked this chapter that was so long overdue. On the bright side: I'm halfway chapter 9 and I'm very excited about it myself.
> 
> As always I'd like to thank my beta Delintthedarkone for asking the right questions and discussing OUAT with me. She's a bright light in the Rumbelle fandom.


	9. The Interview

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 9: The Interview**

* * *

 The Portland city bus turned into Commercial Street and crawled towards the bus stop, avoiding the shiny spots where ice had nestled on the tarmac. The windshield wipers were working on overtime, but still the driver was having difficulty seeing through the flurry of snow raging around his bus.

The petite woman in the back almost toppled over when he suddenly slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding the black Cadillac parked on the side of the road.

"Sorry!" He called, and was relieved that the friendly young woman who always got out of the bus on Commercial Street only smiled and waved at him before she carefully stepped on the pavement.

Belle thanked herself for choosing to wear her warm UGG wedge boots. She'd bought them in a bid to meet her father's pleas about sensible shoes and she had to admit they were a lot more comfortable and warm than high heels this time of year. Upon a very vicious gust of cold wind, she pulled her cute beanie further over her head and ducked into her woollen scarf as she readied herself to cross the last few meters to Ary's front door.

With only two weeks before Christmas, seasonal decorations lit up the darkened Commercial Street and Belle's dejected heart was lifted by the prospect of glancing at her favorite window displays, knowing that more Christmas decorations would have been added since the last time she saw it.

So distracted by the festive lights, Belle didn't notice the large black car parked nearby.

Squinting her eyes against the stinging cold wind and the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes, Belle carefully she began to move forward, huddled in her coat until she'd almost reached the gentleman's clothing store underneath Ariel's apartment.

Ary had practically demanded that she'd come for girl's night this evening, though it wasn't even Friday. For the first time, Belle wasn't looking forward to it. Over the past few days Ary had constantly tried to breach the subject of Mr. Scotsman with Belle, but Belle had dodged her efforts every time.

She had the feeling that there would be no avoiding the subject this evening.

Belle turned her head toward the window display when the door was suddenly opened and a man she recognised as the owner of the business stepped outside, his hands filled with several suit bags. He crossed the pavement and now Belle saw what the bus had been blocking from view: a black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham d'Elégance. She froze.

Mr. Gold.

No one in the greater Portland area owned this type of car except for one man who now stepped out of the clothes store. Belle's heart began to hammer in her chest when she recognised him. Slender hands in dark leather gloves carefully held on the gold handle of his cane and he was wearing a red scarf to complement his smartly cut coat.

Mr. Gold.

Despite the cold Belle's tongue suddenly was parched to her mouth and the blood started to thunder through her veins as she watched him cross the pavement. His expression was unsmiling. His dark, wide-set eyes were fixed intently on the street before him, in an attempt to avoid slipping in the snow with his perfectly unsuitable dress shoes.

Mr. Gold.

For days she'd tried to forget about him and his alter ego Mr. Scotsman but her resolve suddenly broke at the mere sight of the pawnbroker. He reached inside his pocket and Belle watched with tears brimming behind her eyes as he opened the car from a distance.

The owner of the clothing store had followed his customer. They exchanged a brief conversation as he carefully placed the purchases in the back of the Cadillac.

Belle crept a little closer in an attempt to catch the sound of the pawnbroker's voice, but his words were drowned out by a group of carol singers passing by. The next moment he'd stepped into the car and the backlights flashed up bright red.

A hollow feeling settled in Belle's stomach as she watched the car sweep away from the kerb.

"Miss?"

Belle didn't know if it was the stinging wind, which caused the tears to finally escape from her eyes as her gaze stayed fixed on the disappearing car.

"Excuse me, Miss? Are you all right?"

Belle startled from her stupor and looked up at the light touch on her arm.

"Don't I know you? You're always interested in the window display, aren't you?"

Belle nodded numbly at the older man who was watching her worriedly. His silver hair gleamed in the light of the street lights and despite the concern in his eyes there was a playful twinkle in his eyes. He tapped his sharp nose.

"Perhaps you'd like to come inside for a cup of tea? You look like you need one."

With difficulty Belle managed a smile. "I'm all right, thank you. I'm going to visit my friend. She lives in the apartment over the store."

"Nonsense." The man shook his head. "I insist. You look half frozen and besides, it's high time you took a look at the shop from the inside. I've seen you looking at the window display so many times."

He gave Belle a look from over his gold trimmed glasses and handed her a delicate handkerchief before he gently steered her inside the gentlemen's clothes store.

* * *

 The shop owner kept his word. After a nice warm cup of tea he showed Belle around as if she were visiting a museum. Under different circumstances, she would have been absolutely delighted at being able to see the classic interior and the absolutely magnificent Christmas tree in the centre of the shop. At the moment however Mr. Gold invaded her thoughts. Had he fitted one of these suits? Which of these ties could have been held before him to see if it was to his liking?

"You know. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed upset by one of our customers."

"Up... upset?"

Belle chanced a sideways glance but the shop owner kept his features unreadable as he straightened a pocket square on display.

She sighed and looked at the ground. "It's just… We know each other. That's all."

"Ah." The shop owner politely ignored the tremble in her voice.

"That's quite remarkable, if I may say so. Not many people can say they know Mr. Gold. Even the many years I've had the honor of his patronage to this shop, I've come to understand his refined taste in clothing but little more. He's very much a closed book to most people."

The salesman raised his eyebrows as Belle smiled with some pleasant surprise. She hadn't looked at this way.

"He's rather self-contained," she agreed. "But he's really kind and gentle. I…"

Her voice broke.

"I believe he's my friend," she then added softly.

The older man gave her a sympathetic look as she swallowed away the lump in her throat.

"Well, in that case – "

He ducked underneath the counter and pulled out a carton box, festively wrapped with a red and gold ribbon, which Belle saw contained three slender candlesticks.

"Mr. Gold forgot to take these. They're a small promotion gift for Christmas. Real beeswax. Perhaps you'd like to give them to him?"

Belle opened her mouth and closed it again upon seeing the shop owner's expectant gaze. Finally she nodded, defeated.

She had no idea how to keep her promise, but admitting how she felt about Mr. Sco – no, Mr. Gold (to a complete stranger no less) surprisingly awoke something inside that made her close her gloved fingers around the box.

"I will."

This earned her an approving smile from the shop owner who courteously began to steer her toward the front door. It was well past closing time.

"Please give Mr. Gold my best regards. Young Master Gold too."

"Baelfire?" Belle let slip before she could contain herself and the older man smiled indulgently.

"You know him, too? I already thought you would. A very well behaved young man, if I may say so."

He leaned forward slightly and added conspiratorially, "It wasn't your imagination, Miss French. It was Mr. Gold you saw through the window that day. You do know that Mr. Gold's looking for a new librarian in Storybrooke, don't you?"

Now Belle's mouth fell open. "Yes, but how – "

"I'm a shop owner," he meaningfully cut her off and smiled enigmatically. "I may not know everything but there's a lot I do know. Now, you make sure Mr. Gold gets his candles. A very Merry Christmas, my dear child to you… and your loved ones."

The next moment Belle was back on the street with her eyes wide and a box of candles clasped in her arms. For Mr. Gold.

* * *

 "Belle! Where were you? I was getting worried! Come in, you look awfully cold."

Ariel pulled her friend inside her flat and started plucking the beanie and scarf from her head and neck.

"I was in the fashion store below," Belle replied almost absentmindedly.

"Really? Why? Did you want to try something on?" Ary joked as she peeled Belle's coat from her while Belle held on to her box of candles. Even when Ariel tried to pry the box from her fingers she did not budge.

Ariel looked up in surprise and Belle smiled apologetically and hastily put them in her pocket.

"What's that?"

It took Belle only a second to know that she didn't feel like hiding the truth from her friend. "Candles. For Mr. Gold."

Ariel's eyes widened. "Belle, I have been meaning to talk to you about Mr. Gold but…"

She stopped mid-sentence when Belle gave her an hollow look. Ariel suddenly noticed how drawn her friend looked as the librarian went into Ary's tiny living room and plumped down on the sofa.

"I know, Ary, I know. I should forget about him. He's no good for me," Belle groaned in a rare display of annoyance. "You don't have to repeat it every time we see each other."

She looked up when the redhead positioned herself in front of her, arms crossed as she looked down sternly on the professional bookworm.

"If you hadn't tried to constantly avoid my attempts to talk to you about this, you would have learned that's not what I wanted to say."

Confused Belle narrowed her eyes. "It's not?"

Ariel shook her copper locks and sat down on the rickety chair next to her, legs tugged underneath her.

"Bells, look. I'm sorry. I thought I was doing a good thing by warning you about Mr. Gold. But as it turns out -"

Impatiently she blew away her bangs. "- I was wrong."

Belle blinked a few times as she put on the thoughtful face that always indicated she was prepared to examine something down to the last detail.

"In what way exactly?"

The archivist sighed and looked away.

"As in – Mr. Gold didn't kill his wife," she admitted.

Belle was silent for a moment then she nodded slowly.

"Ah. That's nice to know," she commented flatly and looked around. "What's for dinner?"

Ariel frowned. "Belle – " she started, but Belle just wearily shook her head and sighed, "I appreciate you telling me this, Ary. really do. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change that I betrayed his trust in me."

For a moment Ariel watched her friend, than set her jaw. "Which means that you're planning to withdraw from the selection procedure in Storybrooke, am I right?"

Belle was nothing if not rigorous in everything she did.

"Exactly," Belle nodded, gladdened that Ary understood her so quickly. A stubborn glare hardened Ariel's blue eyes. "I'm sorry but I can't let you do that, Belle. You have to go."

With narrowed eyes Belle inclined her head.

"What will you do when I refuse? Drag me to Storybrooke and plant me in that chair?"

"If I have to."

The librarian threw her friend a doubtful look and grabbed the half full glass of wine from the table before, downing it in a big gulp. The liquid burned down her throat and she sputtered and coughed. 

"That was my wine," Ariel commented dryly as she handed her friend a paper towel. "Would you like some too?"

The goofy grin on Belle's still pained features was enough to start the nervous giggle that always indicated the end of a heavy conversation between the two friends.

A comfortable silence descended between them as Ariel went to get another glass and the bottle from the refrigerator while Belle admired the crowded little Christmas tree next to the television set. Unlike Belle who loved classic Christmas decorations, Ariel had a penchant for putting unconventional objects in her tree, like a set of brightly coloured Chinese enamelled fish.

"You know, I don't understand why you're so hot on me going to that interview. You were the one who advised against me writing an application in the first place," Belle frowned as Ariel placed the glass before her and poured her some wine.

Silently they toasted and Belle brought the glass to her lips to take a small sip this time.

The archivist shot her a dark look. "That's because I've spoken to Baelfire – No, my poor carpet!"

In a reflex Ariel's hand shot out, but she was too late. With a dull thump the wineglass fell from Belle's grasp as she burst into another coughing fit.

"Wha- What…" She tried to communicate in between coughs as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "What did you do?"

"I went to see Baelfire. Last week. I spoke with him after his soccer game," Ariel sighed as she stood up and went into the kitchen.

The sound of streaming water vaguely reached Belle's ears until she blinked against a glass of water being held out to her.

"No more wine for you this evening, Bells or you'll drench this whole apartment in alcohol."

With shaking hands Belle took the glass and took a few sips that required a monumental effort to swallow around her rapidly tightening throat.

"Baelfire." She closed her eyes. "How is he?"

Ariel's eyes softened. It was just Belle to inquire about the boy's wellbeing first when everybody else would have jumped to know what he had said.

"He's fine. He won his game. I went to see it with Emma, the Sheriff's cute little girl. She loves to go see Baelfire's soccer games."

"You kidnapped the Sheriff's daughter so you had a reason to see Mr. Gold's son?" Belle asked with a little a bit of horror but Ariel only gave her an incredibly goofy, self-satisfied look.

"I certainly did. Though technically it isn't kidnapping if the parents give their consent and she wouldn't go to bed otherwise."

Belle chuckled amusedly but then her expression turned tense. "So, erm… What did he say?"

Ariel took her hands. "Bells, he practically begged me to persuade you not to withdraw from the selection procedure."

A lonely tear appeared in the corner of Belle's eyes. "Did he?"

Ariel nodded vigorously. "You have to believe me. Baelfire couldn't have been clearer about this. And you know, Bells, I told him your name. He knows who you are."

Somewhere inside of Belle, in the pool of darkness engulfing her for the past weeks, a sparkle of hope was ignited, bringing a weak, but real smile to her lips.

"Really?" She asked hoarsely and Ariel nodded sympathetically.

"The whole Library restoration in Storybrooke was devised solely to find you, Belle, she intoned gently. "Now you have to give Mr. Scotsman the chance to do that."

* * *

 It was an early Thursday evening when Mr. Gold's elegant black car turned up the driveway. The Cadillac's stern, square headlights reflected the harsh snowflakes blinding the pawnbroker's vision as he pulled up before the front porch. The sound of the tires creaking in the freshly fallen snow died away as he established that his salmon house was covered in darkness, but for a weak light coming from the small basement window.

For a moment his dark eyes rested on the unusual sight with an unreadable expression before he took his cane and got out of the car.

It was with some wariness in his movements that the Scot opened his front door and looked around in the shady vestibule.

Carefully he switched on the lights and called, "Bae? Are you home?"

There was no answer and Gold pursed his lips as he removed his coat and scarf and closed the door behind him. Feeling that it was a bit chilly in the house he turned up the thermostat he had installed when he bought the old residence.

He looked up the dark stairs. "Bae?" He called again. Again no response came. His eye fell on the door to the basement.

It was slightly ajar. Narrowing his eyes, Mr Gold opened it and warily followed the worn stairs down, with no care for the snow dripping from his dress shoes.

Descending down the stairs his ears had already picked up the familiar whirring sound, and his eyes grew wide in disbelief; it was Baelfire, sitting behind his father's spinning wheel, spinning.

Gold felt awestruck. He couldn't remember ever teaching his son the techniques of the ancient art or even that the boy had ever showed any interest in his father's obscure hobby.

His heart began to swell with pride and suddenly he wished Miss Australia were on the phone so he could share the moment with her. The moment that she had predicted would come; when he would know that the alienation between him and his son had ended. He had never suspected though it would be at the sight of his son using his spinning wheel.

But Miss Australia was gone, and at this point he didn't expect he'd ever find her, despite Bae's conviction that she was among the librarians invited for an interview. It was a bitter realization that only added to his wistful feeling to hear her sweet voice again. But it also made his heart go out even more to the one person he had left, treasuring the restoration of their relationship.

With a wry smile, Gold quietly approached his son from behind. Not wanting to interrupt but wishing to remove his son from the chilly basement, he crept silently, knowing that Baelfire was in for a scare. A smirk played around his lips as he crossed the basement with Baelfire still unaware of his father's presence.

Mr. Gold reached out, ready to touch his son's shoulder.

At that moment Baelfire broke into such a violent coughing fit that his thread broke between his fingers. Startled, Gold yanked back his hand and immediately squatted, ignoring the screaming pain that shot through his ankle.

Gently he rubbed his son's back, attempting to soothe him.

"Easy, Bae. Try to breathe calmly," he instructed the boy, trying to heed his own advice as he watched in growing panic how coughs kept ripping through his teenage body.

"Pa-," Baelfire tried but his attempt was cut short by the unrelenting coughing fit.

Gold pushed his son away and a shock went through him when he noticed the feverish glow in his son's eyes.

"Bae," he whispered hoarsely. "What's wrong?"

Helplessly the boy looked up at him and shook his head, indicating that he couldn't talk between coughs. He tried to stand but swayed and only his father's arms kept him from falling.

With weak knees Baelfire sank back on the stool as Gold watched him go with growing fear and desperation.

"I cannae carry ye, Bae." Rising panic drove his voice to higher pitches as he looked at his son pleadingly. He fought off the pain in his ankle, cursing his predicament for the first time in a long time.

"... Ok, Papa…" Baelfire coughed. "Thread…"

"Don't worry about that, Bae. That's not important right now. We have to get you upstairs."

He took Baelfire's fevered cheek and turned his face toward him. The boy merely looked at him with a vacant expression in his eyes. Battling down the fear that threatened to rise to dangerous levels inside him, he said with emphasis, "Now listen, Bae. Here's how we're going to do it. You just lean on me – "

Gold hooked his shoulder under Baelfire's limp arm and prayed that his cane would hold the added weight. "- And up we go!""

Ten minutes later Gold softly closed the door to Baelfire's bedroom and with drained, grim features hobbled down the stairs. He picked up the horn of the old-fashioned, Bakelite phone and dialled a number from memory.

His voice filled the quiet hallway. "Dr. Whale? It's Mr. Gold speaking. I need you to come over immediately."

Gold lowered the horn when his eye fell on the blood red flower on the dining table, which wasn't there this morning. An Amaryllis, one of the few types of flowers flower shops had still on sale during the darkest days of the year. It matched the Christmas decoration on the mantelpiece quite nicely. Bae must have bought it somewhere today.

It was then that he realized. There was no flower shop in Storybrooke.

* * *

 "Belle, would you be a darling and fetch that last bucket of roses for me?"

"Of course, Dad."

It was a week after Belle had been invited in the gentlemen's clothing store and the last day before the holidays would start.

Belle pulled the hood of her warm coat over her head and ventured out into the snow as Moe French continued to close his flower stall for the night. She'd just finished at the library and had crossed the street to lend her father a helping hand as she'd done for years.

And would be doing for many more to come but she didn't want to think about that.

"The strangest thing happened today," Moe drawled in his characteristic Australian accent when his daughter returned with the heavy bucket in her arms. A layer of ice had formed on the water inside and small clouds were escaping from her lips. He was glad it would be Christmas soon so they would have at least a day in which they could stay out of the cold.

"What's that, Dad?" Belle asked while putting the roses with the other flowers.

"A boy came by at the flower stand, said he wanted to buy flowers for his father, so I helped him select an Amaryllis. He asked about my accent."

"Everyone does that, Dad. Your accent is hardly inconspicuous," Belle responded a little absentmindedly as she turned to get the next bucket. 

"Yes, I know, but somehow he almost seemed shocked when he noticed. And he kept throwing gazes at the library. His own accent wasn't from here, either, it sounded like a weird mix of Irish and Scottish. You know, back when we were still in Mount Eliza we had these neighbours with exactly the same accent. Perhaps you remember them? They returned to…"

Belle froze. "How old was he?" She asked as her heart suddenly pounded in her chest.

Her father took off his worn baseball cap and scratched his head. "About fourteen years old, I would think. There's no telling with these kids, these days, if you ask me."

Moe French went on with his business, not noticing that Belle had frozen in place. She processed what her father had said as she stared into the distance with unseeing eyes. Her father had met Baelfire.

"Did he say anything else?"

Moe was carrying a large basket of poinsettias into his flower stand and didn't hear the strange tone in her voice.

"Not much," he huffed as he placed the poinsettias next to the Christmas roses. "He wanted to know what time the library would close. I told him and that was the last I saw of him. Perhaps your colleagues have seen him wandering about the library with an Amaryllis in his arms?"

"Perhaps," Belle agreed, wishing that someone had told her about it. Her eyes wandered to the bus stop, one of many on the long route to Storybrooke.

"Dad?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I think I changed my mind on this job interview. I think I will be going after all."

* * *

 "A bilateral pneumonia. A very severe bilateral pneumonia."

Dr. Whale put his hands in the pockets of his doctor's coat as he told Mr. Gold the bad news.

The pawnbroker's eyes widened and for the first time since the doctor had known the man, he saw genuine fear behind the dark gaze.

"Pneumonia? But how…?"

"According to Baelfire, he was out in the fields after a soccer game without a coat on. His coach was quite upset about it but Baelfire wouldn't tell me why he hadn't been more careful."

The look of distress was apparent now on Gold's features and though Dr. Whale didn't like the man very much, like most of the townspeople, his features softened somewhat. At this moment Mr. Gold was only a worried parent who needed guidance from his doctor. 

"Baelfire needs absolute rest and must be kept out of the cold for at least one week. I highly recommend closely monitoring his condition over the next few days; if there's no improvement to his lungs, hospitalization may become necessary."

Mr. Gold nodded wordlessly and took the carton box containing Bae's medication from the physician. Normally he wouldn't think about abandoning business but worry about Bae's condition consumed him to the point where everything else seemed irrelevant now.

"This also means he's not playing Portland this week," emphasized the doctor, giving the pawnbroker a warning look.

Mr. Gold only responded with an empty gaze.

"Excuse me, I have to check on my son," he said coldly and turned around.

He was already halfway up the stairs when Dr. Whale pulled the front door closed behind him. 

* * *

Christmas passed quietly for Belle and her father. Moe spent the day in his armchair enjoying reruns of classic Christmas films, while Belle curl up on the sofa nearby and prepared for the job interview.  

Belle had done her best to concoct a festive Christmas supper within the boundaries of their tiny kitchen. Though her father was a man of few words, his grateful look told her he loved the effort she'd put into it.

Occasionally, Belle would receive a message from Ary that drew a small smile to her lips. The archivist and her fiancé had gone to spend the Christmas holidays with her father and six sisters, an event Ary had anxiously anticipated for weeks. Apart from Eric being a bit overwhelmed by all of the extra female attention, things seemed to be going pretty well for them. Belle giggled at a shot of all of them wearing matching tacky Christmas sweaters by a roaring fire.

Her thoughts drifted then to another family, and she silently hoped they were also celebrating.

Belle couldn't help but pause from her preparations and let her thoughts wander back to Mr Scotsman, and wonder what his reaction would be when she opened her mouth and her Australian accent rolled off her tongue. She felt her heart pound in equal parts excitement and fear; everything depended on what Baelfire had told his father about her, and his responses would tell her how much it exactly would be.

Baelfire had told Ary that the search had been devised solely to find her and in the most romantic of her wandering mind she imagined the surprise on his face when she faced the committee. Like the exalted surprise of a prince when he placed a glass slipper on a peasant girl's foot and found his princess.

Belle sighed to herself. A girl could dream, right? She let her thoughts slide to what she would be wearing to the interview.

It may still be Christmas but in Belle's head January had already arrived.

* * *

Eventually January did announce itself with fireworks and countdown clocks, Moe opened up shop again and then the day of the interview arrived. 

Belle was surprised at how quick time had passed when she studied her appearance in the mirror. She was moderately pleased with what she saw.

For the occasion she had bought a woman's suit (the skirt a tad bit closer to the knee than her normal attire) made of fine wool in a deep dark blue that brought out her eyes. Underneath she wore a silk blouse in a delicate winter white. An embroidered leather belt softened the formal attire. Elegant heels in the same blue colour as her suit and lined with a subtle scalloped edge in white completed her appearance.

Belle lifted her hands and pulled her hair into a loose knot, nodded to herself, took up her leather bag and turned to leave.

In the living room she found her father waiting for her. With slight worry in his watery eyes that he couldn't completely succeed in hiding, he gave his daughter a clumsy hug.

"It's going to be all right, Dad," Belle whispered as she freed one hand and patted him on his balding head. "Things are going to change for the better, Dad. I feel it."

"If you say so, child. Just be careful. I know your mother would be proud of you."

An emphatic smile touched Belle's lips and she lightly squeezed her father before she stepped back.

"I'll see you tonight, Dad."

"Don't forget your coat," he murmured and bowed his head when she pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you, Dad," Belle told him tenderly and with her coat in her arms she left home, on her way to Storybrooke. And on her way to Mr. Scotsman.

* * *

After the longest two hour drive in her life, Belle finally passed the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign and her heart gave an odd leap when her eyes registered the words.

It was happening. It was really happening. She was going to meet Mr. Gold and speak with him and establish for once and for all that he was the mysterious Mr. Scotsman to whom her heart belonged.

She cast a small look at the front seat beside her. Next to her bag laid the box of beeswax candles. She'd gone back to the shop to ask for advice on a good woman's suit and the shop owner had been more than helpful with tips, pointing her to a store that met his approval.

Now she hoped she would be able to give the candles to Mr. Gold before the end of the day, having put something inside the box she suspected he would be very pleased with.

The prospect only disappeared to the back of her mind when she entered the small seaside town.

Nervousness slightly raised Belle's heartbeat as she carefully parked her father's car outside a stately building she suspected must be the mayor's residence. It was a stately building with a classicist façade.

Belle took a deep breath and got out of the car.

* * *

"Good afternoon. You must be Miss Belle French?"

Belle looked up from her papers to see a young woman standing before her. She had a sweet face and short, glowing black hair. The expectant look on her face almost immediately drew a smile to Belle's lips and she stood up.

"Yes. Yes I am. Pleased to meet you."

The other woman smiled back and shook her hand. "I'm Mary Margaret Nolan. You can follow me when you're ready."

"Thank you." Belle took her bag.

"So, have I understood correctly that you're friends with Ariel, Eric Grimsby's fiancée?"

Mary Margaret cast a look over her shoulder as Belle followed her through a long hallway. Their heels clicked softly against the precious marble as they went.

"That's right. We went to college together and now we work fairly close by in Portland," Belle smiled. "She told me about you. You're a school teacher, right?"

Mary Margaret nodded friendly. "That's right. You're actually the only applicant who's relatively from this area. It's nice to know you're already familiar with this town."

She gave Belle a motherly smile and opened a door. Belle's heart skipped a bit.

This was it. It had all come down to this moment. This was the moment Mr. Scotsman had had in mind when he devised this selection procedure for a new town librarian.

Oh, she desperately hoped that he still wasn't mad with her despite Ary's reassurance. In a few short moments, she would know for sure.

"Here we are. Please take a seat. There's coffee, tea and water if you like."

Mary Margaret pointed at a little desk in front of a larger desk behind which a man was sitting, studying her with slight boredom in his dark, somewhat melancholy eyes. As if to demonstrate, his slender hand went to the glass sitting in front of him and he took a sip as Mary Margaret sat down next to him.

Belle's eyes went from one to the other and a sinking feeling came over her as she looked down on her invitation in confusion.

Then Mary Margaret's voice confirmed on an automatic tone what Belle's misgivings already screamed inside her head.

"Before we start I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Gold, who's listed as part of the selection committee in the letter you received, is unable to be here due to family matters. Before you are Mr. Sidney Glass and Mrs. Mary Margaret Nolan and we will…"

He wasn't there.

Belle's throat thickened.

* * *

"So, how did it go?"

Belle leaned her head against the head rest and closed her eyes.

"He wasn't there, Ary," she said with a small voice. On the other side of the mobile line it became quiet. "We did the whole interview without him."

"Did they say why?" Ary sounded subdued after a moment of silence.

"Family matters," Belle whispered. All of a sudden she felt so very tired as she said it.

"Do you believe that explanation?"

"What does it matter whether I believe it or not," Belle couldn't hold back the sob escaping with her words. "Fact is that he wasn't there, Ary, whatever explanation they'll give for his absence."

"Bells…"

"It's all right, Ary. At least now I know to stop hoping. I'm coming back to Portland now and that's the end of it."

"Bells…"

"Please, Ary. It's all right," Belle cut off her friend.

"But are you fit for driving? Otherwise, I'll call Eric to come and…"

"I'm all right, Ary," Belle repeated automatically, hoping that the tears brimming in her eyes wouldn't hinder her view on the road too much. She felt she was acting irresponsibly now but somehow she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I'll call you when I'm home, OK?"

Belle didn't await Ary's response but hung up and started her Dad's car. With a wheezy cough the engine revved up.

On auto pilot Belle steered the car towards the main road, not paying attention to the darkness in Mr. Gold's shop as she drove past the premise, dejectedness filling her heart.

If she'd been honest with herself, she'd felt that this was about to happen Deep down she knew that she had gotten in his black books the moment he'd heard Ary question his son's name on the phone. But hope had let her cling to the promise of a teenage boy that all would be fine. And this was where her foolish hope had gotten her.

Pursing her lips in a thin line Belle grimly stared at the road, registering only faintly whatever scenery she passed. Therefore it took her a second more to realise when she approached an old villa, painted in a pinkish colour and with a familiar black car parked in front of it.

Despite her miserable state Belle's heart leaped up and subconsciously she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. There was no mistake about it. It was his car. As her car slowed, she looked up at the Queen Anne villa. The strange colour scheme faded in the murky evening twilight that had already set in.

It was a house fit for a man like Mr. Gold, who would appreciate its singular beauty. Belle squinted her eyes. Net curtains ordained all but one of the villa's many windows, which featured only roller blinds and something she recognised as a soccer scarf. A shadow was moving about in the dimly lit room. Hesitantly, she opened the car door and without giving a second thought she reached for the box of Christmas candles. Her eyes remained glued to the window across the street.

Belle's breath caught when the silhouette of a man appeared before the window to close the curtains against the obtrusive street light. Her eyes started to water and she blinked viciously to remain a clear view on the man behind the window. He was wearing all but the jacket of his suit and the light lit up his half long hair as he reached for the curtain on his left.

Belle stood rooted to the spot, unable to keep her eyes off of the man she knew was Mr. Scotsman, watching as he reached for the curtains. She watched as he gazed outward and his movements stilled. The locks framing his face veiled his expression but Belle knew that he had noticed her standing across his street. She swallowed hard as her nails dug into the palms of her balled hands.

For a moment the world disappeared around Belle, but for the invisible line holding their gazes fixed at one another.

Belle didn't register when her hand let go of the car door and it slowly closed behind her, nor did she notice that her feet hesitantly started the long way to cross the street. All she saw was Mr. Scotsman standing at a window so terribly close to her that she began to shiver all over her body.

The first time her phone rang she simply didn't hear it as her feet carried her across the street. The only thing she noticed was the gaze of the man at the window following her every step. He had let go of the curtain and had shifted somewhat so that the curtain hid half of his body.

The second time she blamed the blood pounding in her ears for causing the ringing sound.

The man in the window kept watching her intently as suddenly a feeling of foreboding washed over her.

She reached for her mobile phone and blindly found the swipe button on the touch screen. Slowly she lifted the phone to her ear as she reached the driveway to the Queen Anne villa, silently cursing the caller's horrible timing.

"Hello?"

For a split second she hoped that the one answering her would be him but her hopes were crushed immediately when she recognized the voice.

"Belle?"

It was Ariel and her voice sounded upset.

"Where are you? You have to come home immediately! It's your father…"

Belle froze. "What's the matter with him?"

"His flower booth caught fire, Belle. With him in it."

Belle's knees suddenly gave out underneath her.

"No…" she whispered wordlessly.

"Belle, he's in the hospital. He survived, but he breathed in a lot of smoke and his right arm is scorched. You've got to come home. Where are you?"

The box of candles fell from her hands and landed in the snow.

"No," Belle whispered. "I… I'm still in Storybrooke,"

"You have to come home, Belle."

The librarian nodded viciously in the darkness as she fought back the bile rising in her throat.

"I will. I will," she responded automatically and she turned around.

"I will wait for you at the hospital," Ary said softly. "And Belle, there's one other thing. It was Gaston who set the fire. The police are chasing him now."

* * *

It had started to snow again when the front door to the Queen Anne villa opened a minute after Belle's car had disappeared around the corner.

Mr. Gold carefully chose his steps through the snow-covered garden until he reached the box laying abandoned in the snow. With an unreadable expression he picked it up, turned around and it took it with him back into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few months since the last update and I apologize deeply for having you wait this long. I sincerely hope this chapter was worth the wait. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the last one in this story. I hope it's been a bit of relief from the Rumbelle angst going on in Season 4 right now. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


	10. The Passage of Time

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 10: The Passage of Time**

* * *

"Gold! For the love of… Stop playing with the ball! We're trying to win the game here!"

Mr. Gold couldn't suppress an amused smirk as he watched his son delivering the ball before the striker's feet with a beautiful pass. Contrary to his father, Bae was very much a team player, but he couldn't resist the chance of a little ball possession when it presented itself to him.

Although it was almost June, the air was still nippy and Mr. Gold was careful about Bae being out in the open air in his football gear.

Coach Frederick shook his head and ducked into his coat as the soccer moms mumbled . Gold ignored them. He closely watched Bae resuming position as his teammate failed to score. After all those months he was still worried about Bae's health and he had been unrelenting when it came to Bae wearing his winter gear out on the field.

It had taken weeks for Bae to recover from the pneumonia he'd contracted and Mr. Gold had to put all his plans on the back burner, including Miss Australia.

He'd seen her walking down his garden path all those months ago, carrying a small box in her hands. For a moment he'd thought that she was one of the soccer moms, coming round to nag him about one of their schedules. But then a shock had gone through him when he understood the woman approaching the house was anything but.

The image of her trying to find her way through his snow covered front yard had become part of that small collection of memories that was sure to send a sharp sting through his heart whenever it escaped from its designated place in his compartmentalized could still remember how behind him Bae had coughed as he had been rooted to the spot behind the frozen window.

"What's the matter, Papa? Do you see something?"

For a moment Mr. Gold had hesitated. "There's someone coming to the house."

"Oh?" Bae had wheezed. "Who is it?"

There had been no mistake about it. He'd recognized her almost immediately, though dusk had shaded her features. It had been the day of her job interview. The interview he'd failed to attend because of Bae's illness. It had to be her. Who else would come by his house?

Gold's eyes had glittered, and a small muscle had trembled near the corner of his mouth but when he replied his voice had been even. "Miss Belle French."

Bae shot up in bed.

"What?!"

Another cough had ripped through Bae's tortured chest and Gold had cast a quick look at his son only to see him struggling to sit up in bed.

"Stay down, Bae," he'd warned the boy though Gold's heart had picked up on a treacherous pace as had been supposed to meet her this afternoon, Miss Belle French. Hers should have the most interesting job interview of all, the only one he'd really been looking forward to. His excellent knowledge of people told him that if anybody among all those librarians applying for the job would be Miss Australia, it would be her.

But then Bae's pneumonia had happened and this morning he had to call Mrs. Nolan and tell her he wasn't able to join her and Mr. Glass at the interview. To be honest, he didn't know how he felt about that. He hadn't forgotten the incident during the last phone call he'd had with Miss Australia.

"But Papa…" Bae had coughed. "I've been meaning to tell you…"

Mr. Gold had opened his mouth to admonish Bae and his apparent resolve to keep talking through this coughing fit, but closed it when Bae's hoarse whispers caught his attention.

"Tell me? Tell me what, exactly?" Instead he asked cautiously as he went over to Bae and supported him while the boy sat up.

"Speak slowly," he warned his son who nodded tiredly.

"During the game, when I got ill… Eric Grimsby's fiancée was there. She came specially to see me."Mr. Gold had frowned as Bae coughed again. "She told me that she was the one who interfered in your telephone call. She apologized and told me that Miss Australia hadn't told her anything except my name. I…"

He coughed again. "You should stop being angry about this, Papa."

His father stilled.

Bae looked up, a pleading look in his watery eyes. "Go to her, Papa. Please."

Slowly he got up and went over to the window and with an odd light feeling in his heart he watched her careful steps through the garden as he readied himself to answer the door.

But then it had happened. Down in the garden her cell phone had gone off and whoever it was on the other side of the line, they had obviously told Miss French something horrifying. He had watched as she had collapsed in the snow. The small box in her hands had fallen down before her.

When he had moved it had already been too late. She was gone when he finally arrived at the front garden, his cursed ankle screaming in agony with the strain he'd put on it to go down the stairs as quickly as possible. Only the box was left behind in the snow.

He'd picked it up carefully and opened it in the hallway. Inside were a few candles made of beeswax with compliments from the clothes store in Portland he frequented. Confused that Miss Belle French would have had this with her, he'd turned the box around and a small business card had fallen on the side table.

Portland Public Library it read, surrounded by a logo of two hands reaching for a globe and a star. Underneath was a name – Ms Belle French, librarian.

Automatically Gold had flipped the card around and saw the simple drawing of the Australian flag on the back and a private cell phone number. He had closed his eyes and it had taken him all of his self-restraint not to close his fist around the business card. Again the fates had been working against he had hobbled back into the house. The business card had rested in the inner pocket of his jacket ever since.

The position of librarian in Storybrooke had not been filled. At least, not yet. It had taken some persuasion with the mayor, but Gold had arranged for the library to remain closed until he had been able to resume his work for the selection committee.

All this time the business card with the telephone number burned in his pocket but he had refrained from ringing it. First he needed to know what the telephone call in the front yard had been about.

Now the referee was blowing his whistle to signal the end of the game and Mr. Gold watched approvingly as Bae's team cheered for their victory.

Treading carefully in the muddy grass, Mr. Gold turned around and made his way back to his car, where he would wait until Bae was ready to go.

Against his better judgment he hoped that turning up the radio would keep his thoughts from wandering back again to Miss Australia. And though he now knew her name and was in possession of her telephone number, he had no other choice but to wait for the right moment.

And then be there for her.

He didn't have to search for long.

A week later, he went to Granny's for his routinely morning coffee and while he was waiting for the older lady to fill up a large disposable cup he tried to shut out a hushed conversation between the innkeeper's granddaughter Ruby and Eric Grimsby. He wasn't in the slightest interested in what the fisherman and the provocatively dressed adolescent had to say to each other. That was, until Grimsby casually dropped the words 'Portland' and 'flower booth opposite the library.'

Pricking his ears, Mr. Gold listened in on their conversation and understood that some woman's father had only barely escaped death as his flower booth had caught fire. Apparently it was evil intent. His brain immediately linked the information with things Miss Australia had said about flowers. She appeared to have known a thing or two about them and now he understood why. It must have been her father who owned the burned down flower booth. The memory of Belle French falling down on her knees in his snow-covered garden flashed through his mind. The voice on the other side of the line must have been telling her the horrible news.

He was shocked to the core about what had happened but at the same time he realized sadly that this was not the time to approach Miss Australia and that he should keep his distance.

While pretending to be searching his pockets for something he would never find, he learned about a local fund-raiser for the poor flower salesman organized by Portland shopkeepers. He quietly resolved to get in contact with his clothes store in Portland about that.

He pulled up his collar and finally turned around with his coffee but stopped dead in his tracks when Eric Grimsby suddenly said on a louder tone, "Ariel told me that the reason why this creep set fire to the flower booth was because the man's daughter wouldn't go out with him. But according to her she had already met someone else."

"Who then?" Interestedly Ruby leaned over the counter, giving the fisherman on the other side a full view of her plunging neckline. Politely but with difficulty Eric kept his gaze focused on her eyes.

"Someone she met on the telephone," he replied clearly and Ruby responded with a genuine, "On the telephone? How?"

It was Gold's cue to leave. He didn't notice the swift look Eric shot him as the door shut behind him.

* * *

After a long bleak winter, spring had arrived with delicate colours. It was a sight for sore eyes, Belle found. She was relieved to first see the crocuses and grape hyacinths, then the daffodils and bluebells and finally the tulips return to brighten up wintery Portland and also her dejected mind. The seasonal goodness of winter used to lift her spirits but the events of the past few months had put a veil of melancholy over the silent receiving Ariel's crushing phone call, Belle had rushed back to Portland to the hospital where the ambulance had taken her father. When she had arrived in the hospital room she'd collapsed, her hand clasped before her mouth as her father turned his head toward her, a very tired but very glad look in his small eyes.

It turned out that passers by had arrived just in time to pull him out of his flower booth before the roof came crashing down. Only his right arm had suffered second degree burns from the flames and he'd broken a few bones when he'd been pulled out. It had him taken months to recover from his wounds and when he was finally ready to start working again, his flower booth was no longer 's situation had prompted the local shopkeepers to organize a spontaneous fund-raising for the stricken flower salesman. For the first time after Belle's mother had passed away, Belle had seen tears in her father's eyes when they'd presented him with an old truck to replace the burned flower truck had been done up for free by the garage around the corner and the local school had made an art project out of it for the children who had all wanted to help the flower man. An anonymous donation had filled the truck to the brim with flowers, among them a mysterious basket full of Australian Golden Wattle and prickly, bluish thistles.

Now that he had recovered Moe drove the truck to his old spot opposite the library every day and continued selling flowers as if nothing had happened.

Life, however shaken up, had continued to take its course. Belle had withdrawn from the selection procedure in Storybrooke. A very sympathetic Mrs. Nolan had understood the situation immediately.

She didn't insist.

Belle had resumed the life she'd always known, her spirit broken, taking care of her father with total abandon and devotion. Of course she wanted to do nothing more but it also prevented her from thinking.

The police had not been able to catch Gaston. Rumour had it that he'd fled to Canada and there he'd vanished into thin air.

It left Belle with an unsettling feeling that he might come back and finish what he'd started. One time, when she and Ariel had been at Starbucks for some much needed lattes and a bride/maid of honour meeting, Ariel had fallen still mid sentence and blanched. It had actually been the first in a very long time Ariel had brought up the subject of Mr. Scotsman, noting he was still determined to find a new librarian for Storybrooke's closed library after Mrs. Noland and Mr. Glass had failed to appoint one.

"Ary?" Belle had asked worriedly and it had actually taken Ariel a moment to go on and say, "I thought I saw Le Fou leaving."

Startled, Belle had spun around but if he had been there Gaston's runty shadow had disappeared into the crowds on the street.

She'd been looking over her shoulder for weeks after that incident.

Every day after work Belle helped her father packing the truck, as did she this beautiful spring evening. When she left the library the last rays of sunshine gently touched her face while the crisp air made her pull up the large pointed hood of her new red coat up. On the other side of the road her father had already begun putting baskets of flowers into the truck.

Belle hurried to get there. "Dad, you shouldn't begin without me."

Moe looked up and smiled apologetically. "Don't worry, Belle, I'm fine. These aren't too heavy."

Belle looked down on his hands holding a basket full of tulips and spotted the slight tremble he tried to suppress.

She sighed, knowing that she shouldn't be smothering her father and picked up a heavy looking basket herself. "It's all right, Dad, just don't overdo it, OK?"

"I won't," he assured her and gave her hair a short stroke when the flowers stood in their designated places in the truck. This elicited the small half smile he'd hoped to see from his daughter. Nowadays she wouldn't give any more. "What's for dinner tonight?"

"Tonight is girl's night, Dad. I have some bridesmaid's stuff to go through with Ary," Belle replied and his face fell. "But don't worry. You can take a pizza from the fridge and there's a football game on the telly you can watch."

His weathered features brightened again and Belle's expression softened.

"I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

Belle let out a content sigh as she sunk back in Ariel's sagged sofa. The warm breeze entered through the open window while the last rays of the sun set the buildings across the street in a golden glow. The librarian tugged her feet underneath her as she took a sip from her cocktail, an orange affair with sugar rimming the glass. She pulled a face.

"Ouch, that's sweet."

"That's the intention," Ary replied sweetly and Belle shot her a mock dark look.

"I'm beginning to suspect you're secretly in cahoots with the dentist."

She took another sip. "So, have you decided on the flowers?"

Ary plumped down on the sofa too and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, finally. I've decided for peonies to go with the anemones and the lilacs."

"An excellent choice, if I may say so, Mrs. Grimsby," Belle graciously inclined her head and smirked.

Moe would be providing the flowers for the wedding, making it the largest order of the year for the flower salesman.

"Oh no, not yet, I'm not," Ary grumbled. "Otherwise we wouldn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Are you getting cold feet?" Belle teased her but with a sympathetic look in her eyes. The wedding would take place in less than three weeks and it was almost all they talked about these days. Ariel's father was a demanding man and he was determined for his daughter's wedding to become the wedding of the year in Storybrooke. As maid of honor Belle was taking upon her a large part of the organization together with Eric's best man, Sean Herman, who worked in his uncle's cannery. He and his wife Ashley had an adorable little girl who would be one of the flower girls.

Ary made a face at her before taking a sip from her cocktail. "No, but after this I'm done organizing weddings. You would almost forget this is about me and Eric loving each other in stead of the colour of bridesmaids dresses."

She sighed and opened the bulging folder on the coffee table. Belle grinned.

"Oh well, in two weeks time the wedding will be a beautiful memory and you'll have the rest of your life to wonder if those socks always lying outside the clothes-bag instead of in it were worth it."

"Thanks for this inviting vision of the future, Bells. That really cheered me up," the archivist complained, shaking her head.

Belle grinned and then gave her an encouraging nudge.

"That's what maids of honor are for, aren't they? Come on, we have a seating plan to finish."

* * *

Tuesdays were never eventful at Mr. Gold's shop. It was rare for him to see a customer on those slow days and most of his time was spent in his workshop, working to repair and restore the pieces in his shop. He liked those moments, when nobody came to disturb him with their petty little problems and he could give all his attention to heal what other people, sometimes ages ago, had broken.

Therefore Mr. Gold was mildly surprised and, to be honest – disgruntled, when he heard the familiar ring of the bell followed by the sound of the door opening. Carefully he put down an antique, wooden statue of a young countrywoman on a Belgian horse he had been cleaning. It was a late eighteenth-century piece that originated from France and time had covered the wood with a dull sheen.

Gripping his cane Mr. Gold fought off the pain in his bad leg as he hobbled towards the shop and pulled back the curtain. Little did he know that he would be doing that at least two more times this person he saw was as unexpected as the day this person had chosen to stop by his shop.

Wandering around, touching things while turning his head in an apparent but hopeless try not to miss anything was a slightly corpulent young man with blond curls. He didn't notice Mr. Gold's arrival.

Clearly he was not from this village. Mr. Gold knew every single soul in this sleepy town and this fellow looked more like a Silicon Valley kind of guy. Which made him complete and utterly lost Mr. Gold analysed him the young man kept wandering around, not at all aware of the older man's presence. A small smile began to tug on the corner of Mr. Gold's lips when he delicately cleared his throat. It had the desired effect.

The curly head flinched and clumsily turned around, revealing that underneath his grey hoody he was wearing a faded red t-shirt sporting the line _You Are Here_. Mr. Gold lifted an eyebrow.

A sheepish grin appeared on the stranger's lips when he noticed Mr. Gold's look.

"Do you know where 'here' is?" Mr. Gold opened conversation and something in his gaze made the young man put down the delicate crystal unicorn he was holding. The curly head had an air about him in which he seemed to combine a childlike character with razor sharp genius.

"This is Mr. Gold's shop, right?"

Mr. Gold remained motionless as the other stated the obvious. Perhaps a little less genius than he'd thought.

"It is."

"And are you Mr. Gold?"

"In the flesh." Mr. Gold slightly inclined his head.

A brilliant smile broke through on the curly head's slightly worried features. And shamelessly he scrutinized the gentleman on the other side of the desk.

"That's awesome."

Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes. "Those are words I personally wouldn't have connected with myself… How can I help you?"

The sheepish grin returned and the young man scratched his head.

"I'm Eli," he then said without prompting. No last name, of course. This generation of cocktail waitresses had forgotten you were supposed to have a last name. Mr. Gold didn't respond.

"I'm one of the founders of Wynken, Blynken & Nod Social Alarm Service."

Now Mr. Gold's eyes actually widened. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with memories as the young man watched him, clearly hoping for some sign of recognition from the other man.

"So you are… And what brings you to Storybrooke then?" Mr. Gold finally managed, his voice slightly airier, which to the close listener meant that he struggled to keep his voice even.

Eli wasn't a close listener at all. He was thrown back by the almost indifferent reaction.

He shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets. Clearly, he was suddenly wondering what he was doing here after all.

"Well… Erm. While participating in our alarm service I believe you became friends with a lady you called…"

"Miss Australia. Yes, you're quite correct. Though this leaves the question unanswered as to what you are doing here." This time the impatient undercurrent was quite audible, even for swallowed.

"Our software…" He began, "is designed to cut the connection whenever a name, telephone number email address or an address is revealed. It's also designed to record the conversation the moment the system suspects something like that is going to happen…"

Mr. Gold's features hardened. "I can't remember reading anything like that in your terms and conditions. I'm not sure I'm pleased to hear this… Eli."

But Eli only shook his head at this.

"That's not important, right now," he brushed off Mr. Gold's just objections. "The thing is… I've given you two another chance of getting back in contact with each other and then you two blew it… again."He actually looked a little exasperated right now. Like a very unlikely matchmaker that was utterly failing in understanding his clientele.

"I still don't understand what you want from me, Dearie," Mr. Gold said coldly.

"I want to give you her number."

A slight tremble resembling a disdainful smile moved Mr. Gold's lips. "I'm afraid I'm already in the possession of that certain artefact, Dearie."

"You are?" Eli was left dumbfounded as Mr. Gold brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his jacket and waited for the whizz kid named Eli to recover.

Eli clapped his hands together to break the awkward silence. "So, if you are, then what have you done with it?"

"Nothing," Mr. Gold replied evenly. He was in no way inclined to tell this smug, youthful brat about his efforts to lure Miss Australia to Storybrooke, using the library as bait.

"Nothing…" Repeated Eli and now it was his turn to smile. He waved towards the door. "Is that the library across the road? The one meant for her?"

Mr. Gold's face fell. The brat was clearly cleverer than he thought.

"You have seen the ad," he then concluded.

"I did. Am I wrong in assuming that the library still hasn't had its grand reopening?" Eli confirmed a little smugly.

Well, it didn't take a Sherlock to figure that out, what with the windows still boarded up. But Eli wasn't done yet.

"Local newspapers are found online these days," he informed the stiff, middle-aged man, sounding as if he were talking to a small child. He suspected that the Scottish pawnbroker wasn't the one who managed the shop's website.

Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes. "So, you've come all the way from California to give me her number. You're quite the romantic, aren't you?"

Eli chose to ignore that. "But, if you already have her number, then why aren't you doing anything with it?"

"That's my business." Mr. Gold tensed up and he looked at the door. "If there's nothing else, I'm inclined to end this fascinating conversation. I have work to do."

"One last thing." Eli looked a bit defeated. "You are going to get into contact with her, aren't you?"

For a moment Mr. Gold hesitated. He was tempted to deny but something in Eli's eyes, perhaps a shimmer of hope, reminded him of Bae and he felt his resolve weaken.

He heaved an inaudible sigh. "Perhaps in due time."

The smile that broke through on Eli's full face made him immediately regret his moment of weakness when something occurred to him. To Mr. Gold's surprise a question already rolled from his lips before he could overthink it.

"With this wake-up service is it possible to connect a caller to specific person on a specific date?"

Eli studied Mr. Gold before answering, wondering what had made the older man ask this question after his apparent reluctance to talk him until moments before. Clearly the smartly dressed pawnbroker was thinking of something because a spark of interest suddenly had appeared on his cold but at the same time strangely intense features.

To be honest, Eli couldn't quite see why Belle French liked this man, but he had to admit that his voice might come across as interesting on the phone. He didn't seem the person for idle chit chat so perhaps this combination had sparked Belle French's fascination with him.

"We've never done that before," Eli replied cautiously, putting his hands deep in his pockets. "It's against company policy."

"And yet here you are, to present me with her number. Wouldn't that be against company policy too?" Mr. Gold let slip the remark and was satisfied to see that Eli reddened. He shifted his weight. His ankle was playing up, indicating that he'd been standing behind the counter too long.

"What I want to know is not what your company policy is, but if you can do it," he probed, his voice taking on a commanding tone. A plan was forming in his head and he needed this Silicon Valley nerd for it to work.

"Perhaps," Eli replied guardedly, trying to mimic Mr. Gold's attitude.

Mr. Gold ignored his attempt as a satisfied smile appeared on his face. "Good. Perhaps there's some use to you coming here after all."

It was only hours later when another unexpected customer entered Mr. Gold's shop.

A most unusual Tuesday this was.

Mr. Gold was mildly surprised when he appeared from the workshop to see who it was this time. At least this was someone he did know.

Treading carefully through the rows of shelved artefacts was Eric Grimsby.

Mr. Gold's eyebrow rose. He couldn't remember if the fisherman had ever set foot in his shop before.A stream of early morning chill had followed Eric inside when he entered the shop and his rosy cheeks betrayed that he had walked the way from the marina to Mr. Gold's.

"Mr. Grimsby, what can I do for you?" Mr. Gold smiled indulgently as he leaned his hands on the counter.

"Well, um…" The fisherman looked a bit discomforted as he fumbled to remove his gloves and reach inside his jacket.

"As you'll probably know, Ariel and I are getting married…"

"An event which is hard to miss in this quiet town," Mr. Gold agreed with a serene smile and Eric's ears turned red.

"Well, yes…" He mumbled as he put down a dishevelled box on the counter.

"What is this?" Carefully Mr. Gold picked up the box. His expert eye saw that the box was an antique, made out of wood and clad with leather, which had fallen into disrepair a long time ago.

"I'm here about what's inside the box," Eric Grimsby explained ill at ease, putting his hands inside his pockets as he looked down on the counter. "It's a tradition in my family that on the wedding day the groom presents the bride with what's in the box, so I would like to have it taken a look at and cleaned."

Mr. Gold nodded thoughtfully, despite himself a little curious now as to what the box hid inside. "May I?"

With nimble fingers Gold opened the small, silver clasp and then looked up in surprise. "It's a fish hook."

Eric nodded seriously in response, devoid of any humour.

"I'm sure the bride loves to feel like the catch of the day," Mr. Gold couldn't help the mild sneer to fall from his lips.

That gave Eric a start.

"Oh, no, it's not like that," he hastened to explain. "It's actually the other way around. The fishhook is given to the bride as proof she has caught the fisherman. Or, at least…"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and ended a bit tamely, "That's how my uncle tells it."

Mr. Gold shot him an amused look from the corner of his eye as he held the fishhook against the precious trinket was made out of whalebone and decorated with intricate carvings. As he turned it around and around he estimated it dated back several centuries and was worth a small fortune.

"This is a precious gift, Mr. Grimsby," he remarked while putting the hook back in the silk protection of the box. "I can clean it for you and have it back to you by next week."

A smile broke through on Eric's bashful features. "How much will it cost, Mr. Gold?"

For a moment Mr. Gold stared at the hook, valuing the time he would spend on cleaning it when something occurred to him. His eyes narrowed as his thoughts took a totally different direction from estimating a suitable price for the task at hand.

"If I may ask, who will serve as bridesmaids at your wedding?"

"Oh," Eric was clearly thrown by the unexpected question. "Um, well... all of Ariel's sisters of course and Ariel's best friend Belle French is maid of honor."

As soon as the name left his mouth something clicked with Eric. "I believe you know her?"

Mr. Gold shot him a swift look. "Do I?"

Now it was Eric's turn to fix the pawnbroker with a doubtful look. "I believe you do, Mr. Gold. She was one of the applicants for the position of librarian in Storybrooke."

"Ah, well," Gold closed the box with more force than he'd intended to. "I don't believe I've met her."

Which wasn't exactly untrue. After all, he'd never actually met Miss Australia. But perhaps the whizz kid and the fisherman both stopping by his shop today now presented him with the chance he was waiting for to arrange for that to change.

Mr. Gold closed his eyes as he pulled in the small box. "Listen, Mr. Grimsby, I'm willing to clean this jewel for you and do some repairs on the box as well free of charge."

The young man on the other side of the counter looked cautiously at the box and then at Mr. Gold. He was very well aware of Mr. Gold's reputation. With him everything came with a price. On the other hand, he could put the money he saved this way to very good use.

"Then what will you ask in return, Mr. Gold?"

A smile tugged on Mr. Gold's lips. Eric Grimsby would accept.

"A favour."

When the bell rang for a third time, Mr. Gold actually smirked when he got up. Perhaps this third time would add just that touch of security to this plan of his, which already had two favours working for him.

The indulgent smile still graced his lips when he pulled back the curtain and laid eyes on his third visitor.

His face darkened.

Standing in the middle of his shop was a tall, bulky man with coarse but handsome features. Bull-necked and powerful, he was dressed as a huntsman in chequered flannel and his long dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail.

He spied around in a way that made Mr. Gold narrow his eyes. All of his senses told him that this man was dangerous and that he had to get rid of him as soon as possible.

A slight tap of Mr. Gold's cane on the floor made the stranger look around.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. Gold asked softly as he put a hand on the counter.

"Are you Mr. Gold?" With two, heavy steps the man approached the display.

"I am," Mr. Gold remained motionless and the man threw back his head to allow for a thundering laugh.

"I wasn't aware of the humour in this." A menacing glint appeared in Mr. Gold's icy stare and the tall man stopped laughing.

Instead, pure anger flashed over his features as he put down hands like hams on the counter and leaned over.

Though Mr. Gold didn't break his stare he noticed the scorch wound on his left hand.

"I'm looking for a book," the hulk stated in a ringing baritone voice. A vein began to throb in his forehead as he noticed that Mr. Gold wasn't in the slightest way impressed by his aggressive demeanour.

Instead, the suit on the other side of the counter began to unnerve him with an equally dangerous, calculating stare.

"This is not a bookstore. We don't sell books," Mr. Gold replied as soft as before, but in a tone that would make every person in Storybrooke flee the shop. The fact that a large portion of the wall was covered with bookshelves he elected to ignore. Not one of his precious books would leave his shop in the hands of this brute.

"May I suggest the bookstore down the road?"

It was a warning. For the hulk to leave his shop at his own free will now that he still , the dark-haired man straightened himself and his mighty jaws made a chewing movement as he studied the slighter man behind the counter.

"You are nothing but a puny, little man," he snorted disdainfully.

"And I believe you are a fugitive from the law."

Mr. Gold's response came swift- a cold, cutting observation that had the bulky man blanch. The pawnbroker's features hardened, his hands tightening their hold on the counter with cropped-up rage.

"If you indeed are who I think you are, you've hurt someone who is very dear to me. Rest assured that if you come near her or her father ever again, I will hunt you down to the end of the world and I will show you no mercy. Have I made myself clear?"

A cruel glint appeared in Mr. Gold's eyes as he bared his teeth in a threatening expression that had the man swallow and slink off. He took a step back, with fear in his eyes and when Mr. Gold's expression didn't change he stomped towards the door.

To Mr. Gold's surprise it opened on its own accord from the outside, the joyful ring of the bell cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Mr. Gold's heart stopped when Bae entered the shop with a broad smile on his face. "Hiya, Papa. I…"

He fell silent when he noticed the tall, dark-haired stranger in the shop, who turned towards Mr. Gold and repeated with a mean smirk, " Papa…"

Then Gaston pushed past the boy as Mr. Gold watched him go, with terror in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years since the last update of this story and though I have always intended to complete this story, a major writer's block got in the way. It seems like that's resolved now so I'm eager to finish this story. If you have been waiting for this story to be updated I'm very, very grateful for your patience.
> 
> I based the owner of the clothing store Mr. Gold frequents on Lumière. And Eli returns in this chapter, too. I am chuffed that Delintthedarkone returned as my beta and she did such a wonderful job!
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! Have you all enjoyed 07x04 as much as I did?


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